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The 
Betrothal   of  Elypholate 


"  'He  'd  sooner  see  me  by  the  table  sewin'  and  makin'  good  use 
of  my  time  than  wastin'  it  on  them  novel  books '  " 


Elypholate 


artin 


e  table  sewin'  an«i 
in'  it  on  theti-  imv. 


The 
Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

AND  OTHER  TALES  OF  THE  PENNSYLVANIA  DUTCH 


By 
Helen  Reimensnyder  Martin 

Author  of  "Tillie:  A  Mennonite  Maid,"  "Sabina,"  etc. 
With  Illustrations  by 

Charlotte  Harding  and 
Alice  Barber  Stephens 


New  York 

The  Century  Co. 

1907 


Copyright  1905,  1907,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Copyright,  1903,  by  Cosmopolitan  Magazine  Co. 
Copyright,  1903,  by  Prank  Leslie  Publishing  House 
Copyright,  1902, 1903, 1906, 1907,  by  S.  S.  McClure  Co. 


Published  October,  1907 


THE   DE  VINNE    PRESS 


CONTENTS 

THE  BETROTHAL  OF  ELYPHOLATE 1 

THE  REFORMING  OF  A  BRIDEGROOM 37 

THE  CONVERSION  OF  ELVINY 73 

BLUE'S  FURNISHING 99 

MRS.  HOLZAPPLE'S  CONVICTIONS 125 

THE  NARROW  ESCAPE  OF  PERMILLA .  151 

THE  COURTING  OF  PEARLY 193 

THE  DISCIPLINING  OF  MATHIAS  .  .  .  225 


1966509 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATION'S 


PAGE 


; ' '  He  'd  sooner  see  me  by  the  table  sewin'  and  makin'  good 
use  of  my  time  than  wastin'  it  on  them  novel  books ' " 

Frontispiece 

"  '  She  'd  been  to  Millersville  Normal  and  it  got  her  that 
proud — and  Jake's  mom  wants  to  say  Jake  did  n't  do 
just  so  well'" 9 

"His  son  Jakey  heard,  with  dropped  jaw,  this  un wifely  de 
fiance"  55 

"  Poor  Elviny  would  never  be  contented  again,  with  such  a 

load  of  sin  on  her  conscience  " 93 

"  '  And  that  next  evening,  the  sky  was  redder  than  ever ' "  .  121 

"  '  Dan,'  Lizzie  said  with  solemn  resolution,  '  I  'm  not  givin' 

way  fur  no  earthly  ties  '" 141 

Christian  Lundt  learns  his  value  in  the  matrimonial  market  187 
"  Pearly  struck  up  another  song  " 201 

"A  husband  like  Mathias,  who  refused  to  buy  for  her  the 

kitchen  utensils  which  she  absolutely  required  "     .     .  237 


THE  BETROTHAL  OF 
ELYPHOLATE 


THE  BETROTHAL  OF 
ELYPHOLATE 


E£E  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  Elypholate  Yingst,  also, 
had  doubted  in  his  ambitious  youth  whether  it 
was  possible  for  one  with  such  a  name  ever  to  rise  to 
eminence.  "Yingst"  was  sufficiently  difficult  and 
unmusical,  but  "Elypholate"  was  manifestly  im 
possible. 

Yet,  although  he  always  signed  himself  "E. 
Yingst,"  he  never,  when  directly  questioned,  con 
cealed  the  Fact.  "Not  to  deceive  you,  it  's  Elypho 
late,"  he  would  stoically  reply.  It  was  the  extraor 
dinary  conscience  inherited  from  a  race  of  Mennon- 
ite  ancestors  who  had  suffered  persecution  and  exile 
for  their  faith  that  made  it  out  of  the  question  for 
him  to  deviate  from  the  path  of  strict  truthfulness 
even  to  so  small  a  degree  as  to  change  the  name  im 
posed  upon  him  by  his  parents. 

It  was  this  same  extreme  conscientiousness  which 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

led  him,  when  at  the  height  of  his  professional  success 
in  the  city  of  New  York,  to  ask  the  radiant  woman 
whom  he  loved  and  who  loved  him,  to  defer  her  con 
sent  to  marry  him  until  she  had  visited  his  parents  on 
their  ancestral  farm  in  Lancaster  County,  Pennsylva 
nia,  and  had  seen  the  home  of  his  childhood,  the  man 
ner  of  his  rearing — and  all  the  rest.  She  must  not  give 
herself  to  him  until  she  should  know  all  that  it  is  pos 
sible  for  any  woman  to  know  of  any  man  before  her 
marriage  with  him. 

It  was  with  truly  Spartan  courage  that  he  made  ar 
rangements  for  her  to  visit  "the  farm."  He  was  far 
from  sanguine  as  to  the  outcome  of  it.  He  knew  her 
pride  of  family,  her  almost  superstitious  belief  in 
blood,  her  ignorance  of  other  conditions  of  life  than 
those  privileged  ones  in  which  she  had  been  reared. 
Would  she  prove  large  enough  to  recognize,  beneath 
the  crude  conditions  which  would  necessarily  seem  to 
her  uncouth  and  repulsive,  the  real  excellence  of  his 
inheritance  * 

He  would  never  forget  her  naive  astonishment 
upon  hearing  from  his  lips  that  his  parents  were 
plain,  uneducated  New  Mennonites,  of  Lancaster 
County.  She  had  met  it  without  flinching,  but  he 
was  sensitively  suspicious  that  the  knowledge  had 
been  a  stab  to  her  pride  and  all  her  inherited 
prejudices. 

4 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

And  when  she  should  discover  how  entirely  ac 
quired  were  all  his  social  graces  and  manners,  how 
(according  to  her  standards)  vulgar  was  the  back 
ground  of  his  life  in  its  boyhood's  impressions,  would 
it  not  repel  her  from  any  thought  of  marriage  with 
him?  And  could  he  blame  her  if  it  were  so— he  who 
knew  so  well  the  atmosphere  of  refinement  in  which 
she  had  been  always  shielded? 

Well,  the  die  was  cast  now,  and  he  could  only  wait 
for  the  outcome.  This  afternoon  she  would  arrive  at 
New  Canaan  and  be  introduced  into  his  mother's 
household. 

The  incongruity  of  her  in  such  surroundings  smote 
him.  Again  he  questioned  his  wisdom  in  having 
planned  to  subject  her  love  to  this  test. 

"But  no.  Better  discover  it  now  than  later,  if  she 
is  going  to  despise  my  origin,"  was  his  final  conclu 
sion. 

He  had  left  New  York  city  a  day  ahead  of  the  date 
fixed  for  her  departure  for  New  Canaan.  There  was 
an  important  matter  which  he  must  discuss  with  his 
mother  before  Laura  came  to  them.  All  minor  de 
tails  as  to  the  appointments  of  the  household,  and  so 
forth,  he  would  leave  untouched;  for  Laura  must  see 
things  at  his  parents'  home  as  they  always  were— 
there  must  be  no  unaccustomed  frills.  There  was 
only  that  one  matter  that  he  must  emphatically  settle 

5 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

with  his  mother  before  he  introduced  her  to  the  girl 
whom  he  hoped  to  marry. 

It  was  early  on  the  afternoon  of  her  expected  ar 
rival  when  Doctor  Yingst  sought  his  mother  to  "have 
it  out"  with  her. 

He  found  her  in  the  kitchen,  rolling  out  pastry. 

Mrs.  Yingst  was  a  well-preserved  woman  of  about 
sixty  years  of  age.  The  countenance  looking  out 
from  her  Mennonite  white  cap  was  mild  and  placid. 
The  nervous  force  manifested  in  the  keen,  fine  face 
of  the  eminent  New  York  physician  was  evidently 
not  inherited  from  his  New  Mennonite  mother. 

It  was  early  spring,  and  the  door  and  windows  of 
the  large,  clean  kitchen  were  open  wide.  It  was  not, 
however,  the  sweet  country  odors  of  the  springtime 
that  were  wafted  indoors  to  mingle  with  those  of  the 
stewing  fruit  on  the  stove,  but  it  was  the  nearness  of 
the  stables  that  was  (most  unpleasantly)  manifest. 

"I  Ve  been  to  the  village,  mother,"  the  doctor  be 
gan,  seating  himself  opposite  to  where  she  stood  work 
ing  at  the  table. 

"Are  you  home  long  a 'ready?" 

"I  just  came  in." 

"What  for  did  you  go,  seein'  you  're  got  to  go  in 
again  this  after,  to  fetch  out  herf" 

"I  went  on  business." 

"What  for  business  was  that?" 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

The  mother  of  such  a  son  might  well  have  looked  on 
him  with  pride,  but  Mrs.  Yingst 's  religion  forbade 
such  human  weakness,  and  the  monotonous  placidity 
of  her  countenance  was  quite  unmoved  as  her  eyes 
were  from  time  to  time  lifted  from  her  paste  to  the 
handsome  face  of  her  only  child. 

"Mother,"  he  earnestly  but  gently  spoke  in  answer 
to  her  inquiry,  "you  must  make  up  your  mind  to  give 
up  taking  your  vegetables  to  the  Lancaster  city  mar 
ket.  I  have  urged  you  so  often.  Now,  I  must  insist 
upon  your  stopping  it.  You  are  too  old  to  stand  for 
hours  twice  a  week  behind  those  market-stalls. 
Father  is  as  much  opposed  to  it  as  I  am.  If  there 
were  the  least  necessity  for  it — but  you  know  there 
is  n't.  "Why  do  you  persist  in  it,  mother?" 

Doctor  Yingst  was  convinced  that  his  mother's  sell 
ing  vegetables  behind  a  market-stall,  in  the  city  of 
Lancaster,  would  be  to  Laura  the  final,  intolerable 
straw. 

"I  could  n't  leave  the  wegetables  go  to  waste," 
Mrs.  Yingst  replied,  as  she  deftly  lifted  a  circular 
layer  of  paste  on  her  palms  and  laid  it  on  a  pie-pan. 
"We  raise  more  'n  what  we  use  still." 

"Give  away  what  you  don't  need.  No,"  he  added, 
seeing,  from  the  slight  change  in  her  quiet  face,  how 
he  had  shocked  her  frugal  soul,  "I  know  that  is  n't 
practical  advice  in  this  neighborhood,  where  there 

7 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

are  no  starving  poor.  Let  father  sell  to  the  hucksters 
what  you  don't  use." 

"This  long  time  a 'ready  he  wants  to  do  that.  But 
the  wegetables  fetches  more  on  market  still. ' ' 

"But,  mother,"  he  expostulated,  leaning  forward 
across  the  table,  and,  in  his  eagerness,  not  minding 
the  sprinkling  of  flour  that  he  was  receiving,  "can't 
you  realize  that  when  you  have  a  son  who  earns  an 
income  of  not  less  than  twenty  thousand  a  year  it  is  a 
reflection  on  his  filial  care  for  you  when  you  try  to 
earn  this  poor  little  pittance  twice  a  week  at  the  mar 
ket?  It  is  a  disgrace  to  me,  mother.  I  beg  you 
to  give  it  up.  Won 't  you  do  this  for  me  ?  You  know 
there  is  nothing  on  earth  7  would  not  do  for  you." 

"The  hucksters  would  give  pop  only  twelve  cents 
a  dozen  fur  eggs,  and  I  can  make  'em  fetch  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  on  market,  'Lypholate." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  gazed  at  her, 
despairingly. 

"I  wish  I  could  make  you  feel,  mother,  how  much 
depends  on  this  for  me.  The  best  happiness  of  my 
life!" 

Mrs.  Yingst's  rolling-pin  paused  for  an  instant  as 
she  looked  at  him,  evidently  with  an  unexpected  flash 
of  insight. 

"Do  you  mean  mebby  she,"  with  an  indicative 
twirl  of  her  thumb,  "is  proud  with  herself  that  way, 

8 


r 

£ 


6    P 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

and  would  n't  like  it  so  well  havin'  her  man's  mom 
sellin'  on  market?  I  heerd  of  such  a 'ready." 

"She  would  not  be  able  to  understand  my  permit 
ting  you  to  expose  yourself  like  that,  when  I  am  able 
to  give  you  every  comfort  and  luxury." 

"Is  she  so  wonderful  tony,  'Lypholate?  To  be 
sure,  I  knowed  you  'd  want  to  marry  a  way-up  young 
lady.  You  're  so  educated  and  fash'nable.  But, 
'Lypholate, "  she  cautioned  him,  "if  she  's  so  proud 
with  herself  that  way,  mebby  she  won't  make  you  a 
good  housekeeper.  Jake  Guttfleisch,  he  married  that 
Herr  girl  that  lived  up  the  road  a  piece  from  New 
Canaan— she  'd  been  to  Millersville  Normal,  and  it 
got  her  that  proud— and  Jake's  mom,  she  wants  to 
say  Jake  did  n't  do  just  so  well— the  Herr  girl  's 
such  a  dopple  (awkward  person).  She  won't  bake 
fur  him.  She  gives  him  baker's  bread  and  canned 
meat  and  even  canned  soups,  yet!  Now,  think!  I 
hope  you  took  notice  a 'ready,  'Lypholate,  when  you 
was  keepin'  comp'ny,  if  your  girl  's  handy  or  not, 
before  you  ast  her.  Did  you  ast  her  yet?" 

"We  are  not  definitely  engaged,  mother." 

"But  you  're  in  with  her  wonderful  thick,  ain't 
you  are?" 

"Mother,  I  want  to  marry  Miss  Coxe  more  than  I 
ever  wanted  anything  in  this  world.  Will  you  or 
won't  you  help  me  to  get  what  I  so  much  want? 

11 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

Won't  you  stop  going  to  market  with  your 
vegetables?" 

"If  that  would  stop  her  sayin'  yes,  'Lypholate, 
she  would  n't  be  the  woman  fur  you,  my  son,"  his 
mother  said,  with  unwonted  emphasis. 

The  young  man  felt  the  force  of  this.  Neverthe 
less,  he  persisted. 

"Is  my  happiness  less  to  you  than  the  few  dollars 
you  make  every  week  at  market— money  that  you 
can't  spend,  but  just  lay  away  in  a  bag?" 

"It  would  n't  be  right  to  waste  them  wegetablea 
we  can't  use  ourselves,"  Mrs.  Yingst  quietly  repeated. 

"Well,  then,  mother,"  her  son  suddenly  an 
nounced,  again  leaning  forward  on  the  table,  "you 
can't  go  to  market  to-morrow  morning  or  ever  again, 
for  1  've  sold  your  market-wagon!  I  took  it  in  to 
New  Canaan  after  dinner  and  sold  it  for  ten  dollars 
to  Abram  Zech.  Here  's  four  times  the  money," 
he  added,  laying  two  twenty-dollar  bills  on  the  table 
before  her.  "And  I  '11  pay  you  every  week  five 
times  the  sum  you  would  make  at  market." 

It  was  by  such  high-handed  measures  as  this  that 
Doctor  Yingst  had,  all  through  his  boyhood  and 
young  manhood,  gained  his  own  way  in  opposition  to 
his  mother.  Every  dollar  that  had  been  spent  upon 
his  education  had  been  wrung  from  her  by  almost 
brute  f  oroe.  He  had  always,  in  his  determined  strug- 

12 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

gles  for  an  education,  been  aided  and  abetted  by  his 
father,  but  his  road  had  not  been  smooth.  Perhaps, 
however,  he  was  none  the  worse  for  that.  His  mother 
had  never  resented  his  rebellion  against  her  rigid 
economy.  Had  he  been  content  to  stay  at  home  and 
help  on  the  farm,  he  would  have  been  a  son  more  after 
her  own  heart;  but,  deep  down  in  her  simple  soul, 
she  was  proud  of  her  marvelous,  though  incompre 
hensible,  boy. 

A  dumb  look  of  bewilderment  was  her  reception  of 
the  amazing,  the  revolutionary,  news  that  the  market- 
wagon  had  been  sold.  She  slowly  turned  her  back 
upon  him  and  carried  her  pies  to  the  oven.  He 
waited  uneasily  for  her  return  to  the  table. 

She  came  back,  after  a  moment,  and  stood  with  her  fat 
palms  spread  out  on  the  dough-board.  ' '  If  the  market- 
wagon  's  solt,  I  '11  have  to  take  the  buggy,  then.  It 
ain  't  so  handy  to  get  the  things  in  as  what  the  market- 
wagon  was  still.  But  I  guess  I  can  make  it  suit." 

He  stared  at  her  for  an  instant;  a  flash  came  into 
his  eyes;  his  lips  twitched,  and,  suddenly,  he  bent 
back  his  head  and  roared  with  laughter. 

"What  d'  you  see  so  funny  yet?"  his  mother  won- 
deringly  asked,  beginning  to  gather  up  the  dishes, 
spoons  and  knives  she  had  used  in  the  baking. 

"If  I  sell  your  buggy,  too,  mother,  how  will  you 
manage?" 

13 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

"Then  I  'd  have  to  walk  them  four  miles  and  carry 
a  big  basket.  Or  borry  the  loan  of  a  wagon  off  of 
Jake  Guttfleisch's.  And  how  would  I  get  to  meetin' 
still  without  no  buggy?" 

"There,"  he  reassured  her,  "I  won't  sell  the 
buggy.  I  see,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh  of  resignation, 
"that  you  must  do  as  you  please — and  live  your  own 
life  in  your  own  way,  mother. ' ' 

He  drew  a  long  breath  as  he  rose  from  the  table. 
Taking  out  his  watch,  he  compared  it  with  the  clock 
on  the  mantel  over  the  stove.  "Two  hours  before  I 
must  start  for  the  train, ' '  he  restlessly  said. 

He  shook  the  flour  from  his  sleeves  and  picked  up 
his  hat  from  a  chair. 

"I  guess  I  '11  go  out  to  the  field  and  visit  with 
father  until  train  time." 


n 


BY  an  unexpected  chance,  Miss  Laura  Coxe  was  able, 
on  her  way  from  New  York  city  to  Lancaster,  to  make 
such  close  connections  at  Philadelphia  that  she 
reached  the  village  of  New  Canaan  two  hours  earlier 
than  Doctor  Yingst  expected  her,  and,  consequently, 
she  was  obliged  to  find  her  own  way  from  the  little 
station  to  the  Yingst  farm,  a  mile  distant. 

H 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

Eager  as  the  young  girl  was  to  see  her  lover,  she, 
nevertheless,  looked  upon  this  contingency  as  a  rather 
diverting  adventure,  and,  as  it  was  a  clear,  beautiful, 
spring  day,  she  started  out  on  her  walk  with  keenest 
pleasure. 

The  ticket-agent  at  the  little  station  had  told  her  in 
which  direction  to  go.  But  when  she  had  walked  the 
half-mile  from  the  village,  on  the  country  highroad, 
she  found  herself  obliged,  at  the  joining  of  three 
roads,  to  inquire  again  the  way  to  the  Yingst  farm. 

The  farm-house  at  which  she  stopped  to  ask  for  in 
formation  was  a  respectable  red-brick  edifice,  built 
with  a  strict  avoidance  of  any  hint  of  grace  or  art.  It 
was  set  back  a  few  yards  from  the  road,  and  had  it 
not  been  for  the  neat,  weedless  flower  beds  in  front  of 
it,  Miss  Coxe  would  have  supposed  it  to  be  unoccu 
pied,  for  every  shutter  was  tightly  closed,  and  there 
was  not  a  sign  of  life  about  the  place. 

Her  knock  upon  one  of  the  two  front  doors  (a  great 
many  Lancaster  County  farm-houses  are  built  with 
two  identically  similar  front  doors,  side  by  side) 
brought  a  big  dog,  bounding  and  barking,  to  the 
porch  where  she  waited.  She  felt  rather  alarmed  at 
the  vehemence  of  this  canine  greeting,  but  relief 
quickly  appeared  in  the  form  of  a  stout,  middle-aged 
woman  and  a  small  boy,  coming  quickly  from  around 
the  side  of  the  house,  the  latter  calling  the  dog  from 

15 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

the  stranger,  and  the  former  scolding  the  child  for 
having  "tied  the  dog  loose"  (untied  the  dog). 

"Your  pop  tole  you  you  're  not  to  tie  her  loose 
these  dog-days!"  the  boy  was  admonished.  "Now, 
you  '11  see  what  you  '11  mebby  get  oncet  when  pop 
comes  in  then !  Take  her  around  back  now  and  make 
her  tight!" 

She  turned  to  the  young  lady  on  the  porch  as  she 
wiped  her  wet,  soapy  hands  on  her  gingham  apron. 

A  wide-eyed  curiosity  looked  out  from  the  woman 's 
quaint,  white,  Mennonite  cap,  as  her  gaze  rested  upon 
the  unaccustomed  vision  on  her  door-step,  of  the  fair- 
haired,  blue-eyed  girl  in  her  white-lined  raglan  and 
pretty  spring  hat  of  dark-blue  straw. 

"Good-morning,"  Miss  Coxe  bowed.  "Will  you 
please  tell  me  how  to  get  to  Mr.  Yingst's  farm?" 

"Yingst's  farm?"  the  woman  repeated.  "Which 
fur  Yingst  is  it  you  're  after  7  New  Canaan  's  got  so 
many  Yingsts.  It  's  a  name  where  's  familiar  here. 
Do  you  mean  mebbe  Hiram?  Or  is  it  Ephraim's? 
Or  Ezra's?" 

"Mr.  Hiram  Yingst." 

"Oh,  him.  Well,  his  place  is  up  this  here  road  a 
piece ;  about  a  half  a  mile  yet. ' ' 

' '  Straight  up  this  road  ?    I  make  no  turns  ? ' ' 

"No.  You  go  up  this  way,  and  if  you  see  a  red 
barn,  there  's  Yingst's.  Are  you  goin'  to  Yingst's?" 

16 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

"Yes.    Thank  you  very  much." 

"Ach,  that  's  all  right!  So  you  're  goin'  to 
Yingst's?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  want  to  hire,  or  what?" 

"Hire?" 

"Yes.  Hire.  Because  if  you  do,  I  could  easy  get 
you  a  good  place." 

"No,"  said  Miss  Coxe,  her  smile  illuming  her  bright 
face,  "I  am  going  visiting." 

"Oh,  wisitin'.  Are  you  from  town,  or  wherever?" 
the  woman  curiously  inquired. 

"Yes— from  New  York." 

"Oh,  from  there,"  she  nodded.  "That  's  a  long 
ways  to  come,  ain't?" 

"It  's  several  hours'  ride." 

"Hiram  Yingst's  son,  he  lives  in  New  York  this 
long  time  a 'ready.  Mebbe  you  know  him?" 

"Yes." 

"I  took  notice  he  's  home  these  last  couple  days. 
Is  it  to  see  him  you  're  wisitin'  down  here?" 

"Oh,  no,"  smiled  Miss  Coxe,  stepping  off  the 
porch,  and  recovering  from  her  interest  in  what 
seemed  to  her  the  phenomenal  frankness  of  the 
woman's  investigation  of  her. 

"It  's  some  dusty  walkin',  ain't?" 

"A  little,  yes;  But  I  am  enjoying  the  walk." 

17 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

"I  think  we  '11  mebbe  have  fallin'  weather— it  feels 
so  fur  rain,  fur  all  it  's  clear  yet." 

' '  Yes  ?    I  thank  you  very  much.    Good-by. ' ' 

'  *  That  's  all  right.    Good-by. ' ' 

As  Miss  Coxe  walked  buoyantly  on  down  the  pike, 
she  laughed  gleefully  to  herself  as  she  thought  how 
she  should  enjoy  telling  her  lover  of  her  amusing 
talk  with  the  odd,  fat  little  woman. 

"That  she  should  offer  to  get  me  'a  good  place!' 
How  he  will  laugh !  How  interested  he  would  be — if 
he  ever  happened  to  meet  her— in  her  queer  language ! 
I  wonder  if  he  ever  ran  across  her  on  his  trips  down 
here.  Her  dialect  is  not  like  any  I  have  ever  heard. 
'Yingst's  son,  he  a 'ready  lives  yet  in  New  York, 
ain't?'— something  like  that!  Oh,  he  will  be  so  en 
tertained!" 


Ill 


"Is  Mrs.  Yingst  at  home?" 

"Yes,  I  'mher." 

The  two  women  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  as 
they  clasped  hands. 

"You  're  'Lypholate's  girl,  I  guess,  ain't?  We 
was  n't  lookin'  fur  you  till  five  o'clock." 

"I  am  Miss  Coxe." 

18 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

"I  'm  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance.  Just 
walk  in  oncet." 

With  a  bewildered  look  in  her  pretty  eyes,  Miss 
Coxe  stepped  into  the  close,  stuffy,  darkened,  front 
room  of  the  plain,  brick  farm-house.  When  Mrs. 
Yingst  closed  the  front  door  upon  the  sunlight,  they 
were  left  in  almost  total  blackness. 

•"I  '11  make  the  shutters  open  a  little,"  the  hostess 
hospitably  said,  and  Miss  Coxe,  afraid  to  move  in  the 
midday  midnight,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  and 
waited  for  a  ray  of  light.  The  odor  of  the  close,  un 
used  room  was  sickening. 

She  was  struck  with  the  fact  that  this  woman  who 
had  answered  her  knock  at  the  door  was  dressed  ex 
actly  like  the  one  at  whose  home  she  had  asked  to  be 
directed  to  Mr.  Yingst 's  farm.  She  wore  the  same 
sort  of  white  cap,  plain  black  gown  and  three-cor 
nered  cape.  It  must  be  the  garb  of  the  puritanic 
faith  to  which  "the  doctor"  had  told  her  his  mother 
was  such  a  faithful  adherent. 

"We  keep  this  room  shut  still,  except  only  when 
we  're  getting  strangers,"  remarked  Mrs.  Yingst,  as 
she  admitted  an  economical  bit  of  light  through  the 
shutters. 

She  came  from  the  window  to  the  girl's  side  and 
pushed  forward  a  large,  painted,  wooden  rocking- 
chair. 

19 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

"Set  down  and  rest  yourself,"  she  said,  in  her 
quiet,  monotonous  voice.  "It  '11  spite  'Lypholate 
that  you  had  to  walk  out.  He  was  goin'  to  fetch  you 
till  five  o'clock.  Did  you  get  here  sooner  than  you 
thought  fur,  or  what?" 

"Yes,  I  made  closer  connections  at  Philadelphia 
than  the  doctor  or  I  had  supposed  could  be  made. ' ' 

' '  'Lypholate  's  out  in  the  field  with  his  pop. ' ' 

"His — what?"  tentatively  asked  Miss  Coxe,  sink 
ing  into  the  rocking-chair  as  Mrs.  Yingst  sat  down  in 
another  chair  just  like  it. 

"His  pop.  He  '11  come  in  then  till  he  thinks  it  's 
time  to  go  fur  the  train— and  he  will  now  be  that  sur 
prised  to  see  you  settin'  here.  It  won't  go  long  any 
more  till  he  's  home.  Just  spare  your  coat  and 
hat." 

Miss  Coxe  slipped  out  of  her  raglan  and  laid  her 
hat  on  the  marble-topped  table,  her  quick  eye  noting, 
meanwhile,  the  neatness,  the  stiff  order,  the  primitive 
furnishings  of  the  room.  There  were  no  pictures  on 
the  white-washed  walls,  and  no  ornaments  of  any  de 
scription  in  the  room — just  the  plain  articles  of  fur 
niture  absolutely  essential  for  use. 

"  'Lypholate  tole  me  how  you  're  so  tony,"  Mrs. 
Yingst  said,  gently  rocking  back  and  forth  as  she 
gazed  with  her  unvarying  placidity  of  countenance 
upon  the  girl  before  her.  "So,  I  guess  we  '11  seem 

20 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

some  plain  to  you.  But  us  Mennonites  don't  hold  to 
fash'nable  things.  We  live  very  plain  that  way.  I 
tole  'Lypholate,  'We  can't  accommodate  her  to  satis 
faction,  '  I  says,  when  he  said  now  he  's  f etchin '  you  to 
see  us  once.  'Not  to  satisfaction,'  I  says.  You  know, 
it  goes  like  this:  us,  we  don't  care  for  style,  only 
cleanness. ' ' 

"Yes?" 

"Did  it  mebbe  make  you  some  warm  walkin'? 
I  '11  leave  you  use  my  fan." 

She  took  from  the  table-drawer  a  roll  of  white  tis 
sue-paper  in  which,  it  presently  appeared,  a  black 
paper  fan  was  carefully  preserved. 

"Here,  one  day  last  summer,  I  nearly  lost  my  fan 
— now  think!"  Mrs.  Yingst's  even  tones  related  as 
she  spread  open  the  treasure  and  handed  it  to  her 
guest.  "I  got  it  for  such  a  prize  with  a  box  of  soap. 
I  had  it  now  it  will  be  this  five  years  back  a 'ready  till 
next  summer.  I  was  always  careful  with  it.  Yes, 
one  day  last  summer,  I  nearly  lost  it  yet ! ' ' 

Miss  Coxe  examined  the  fan  curiously.  She  could 
discover  nothing  about  it  which  explained  its  being  so 
carefully  guarded  and  treasured.  It  appeared  to  be 
worth  about  ten  cents.  Having  come  with  a  box  of 
soap,  the  possibility  was  precluded  of  there  being  any 
sentiment  associated  with  it.  She  was  mystified. 
Her  long  walk  had  made  her  warm  and  tired,  and  she 

21 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

began  to  wonder  whether  she  were  really  awake  or 
whether  she  was  dreaming  all  these  weird,  strange 
impressions  of  things  that  seemed  to  Be  passing  be 
fore  her. 

"I  say!"  Mrs.  Yingst  abruptly  remarked,  in  a  deep 
voice  that  had  in  it  a  touch  of  the  tragic.  "There  's 
the  fly!" 

Her  eyes  were  fixed,  with  a  stony  stare,  upon  the 
high  back  of  Miss  Coxe's  rocking-chair.  "Set  still 
till  I  see  once  if  I  can  ketch  it ! "  She  rose  cautiously, 
but  a  look  of  profound  disappointment  came  into  her 
face,  and  she  sighed  as  she  sat  down  again. 

"Me  and  pop  's  tried  now  fur  a  week  back  to  ketch 
the  fly.  It  must  have  been  the  day  I  cleaned  up  fur 
'Lypholate's  comin'  home  yet  that  it  somehow  got  in. 
We  ain't  never  been  able  to  ketch  it.  Such  things 
spites  a  body,  ain't?" 

"But  are  you  sure  it  's  the  same  fly?"  Miss  Coxe 
wonderingly  asked. 

"It  could  n't  be  no  other,  fur  only  one  got  in." 

"If  you  don't  use  this  room,"  Miss  Coxe  reasoned 
with  her,  "why  do  you  care?" 

"I  can't  sleep  good  still  when  I  know  there  's  a  fly 
in  the  house,"  Mrs.  Yingst  sighed,  as  she  resignedly 
sank  back  again  in  her  chair.  She  rocked  slowly  as 
she  amiably  regarded  her  guest. 

"  Tiypholate  ain't  spoke  just  so  much  to  me  about 

22 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

you  except  he  said  you  was  so  tony.    What  does  your 
pop  follow?" 

"Follow?"  Miss  Coxe  asked,  a  puzzled  distress  in 
her  childish  eyes.  "What  is  his  business,  do  you 
mean?" 

"Yes.    I  mean  what  does  he  carry  on." 

' '  He  is  a  retired  physician. ' ' 

' '  Now  think !    Like  'Lypholate,  ain  't  t " 

"Yes— only,  he  is  retired  now.  He  is  an  old  man. 
I  am  the  youngest  of  nine  children. ' ' 

"You  mean  he  don't  carry  on  nothin'  now?" 

"Yes.    He  is  too  old  to  work." 

"I  take  notice  you  don't  speak  your  words  like 
what  we  speak  our'n.  You  speak  so  funny  that  way! 
Like  what  'Lypholate  learned  himself  to  speak  till 
he  'd  been  away  to  school  a  couple  years.  'Lypholate 
don't  talk  like  his  tongue  grew  to  talk." 

A  fat,  lazy  cat  had  wandered  into  the  room  and 
was  rubbing  its  arched  back  against  the  folds  of  the 
girl's  skirts.  Miss  Coxe  suddenly  bent  low  and 
stroked  the  animal's  thick  fur.  Mrs.  Yingst  noticed 
that  her  face  grew  crimson  as  she  stooped. 

"That  's  not  for  us  to  do— like  what  you  're  doin' 
—to  make  a  fuss  with  the  cat  still." 

Miss  Coxe  sat  up  again  and  laughed  a  little,  help 
less  laugh  that  somehow  struck  Mrs.  Yingst  with  a 
vague  sense  of  pathos. 

23 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

"Are  you  mebbe  hungry  for  a  piece?" 

"A  piece  of  what?" 

"Oh,  well,  just  a  piece.  Mebby  some  butter-bread? 
We  've  havin'  supper  till  five  o'clock." 

"I  '11  have  a  drink  of  water  if  you  please. ' ' 

"I  '11  go  get  it." 

She  left  the  room,  and,  after  a  moment,  came  back 
with  a  thick  glass  goblet. 

"You  must  excuse  me  if  I  call  you  Laura.  Ain't 
you  will?"  she  asked.  "It  ain't  for  us  New  Men- 
nonites  to  pay  compliments  and  call  folks  Miss,  or 
Missus,  or  whatever.  We  don't  favor  titles.  You 
know  we  read:  'Call  no  man  Master';  and  we  try  to 
obey  to  the  Scripture.  Are  you  Bible-read?" 

The  question  was  disconcerting. 

"Well,"  smiled  the  girl,  "I  'm  not  ready  to  take 
a  chair  of  Biblical  exegesis  in  a  theological  sem 
inary!" 

Mrs.  Yingst  stared  uncomprehendingly.  "Them 
big  words  come  easy  to  you,  ain't  it?  With  'Lypho- 
late,  too,"  she  nodded.  "Would  you  like  to  look  at 
'Lypholate  's  pictures  ? ' ' 

She  took  a  photograph  album  from  the  table  and, 
drawing  her  chair  to  Miss  Coxe's  side,  she  spread  it 
open  on  her  own  ample  lap.  With  a  quiet  compla 
cency,  but  with  no  apparent  pride,  she  turned  the 
pages  to  display  the  succession  of  photographs  of  her 

2-4 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

son,  taken  from  boyhood  up  to  manhood.  The  girl 
studied  them  with  fascinated  interest. 

' '  Here  's  one  he  had  took  with  his  pop, ' '  the  mother 
said,  showing  the  portrait  of  a  stiffly  posed  farmer  of 
middle  age,  with  his  arm  bent  at  the  elbow  to  a  sharp 
right  angle  and  his  hand  spread  heavily  on  a  small 
boy's  shoulder,  as  though  in  the  act  of  arresting  him 
for  a  misdemeanor  against  the  law.  "Pop  was  al 
ways  so  much  for  havin'  'Lypholate's  picture  took." 

"The  doctor  looks  like  his  father,  does  n't  he?" 
Miss  Coxe  said,  as  she  bent  over  the  photograph. 

"Yes.  Him  and  'Lypholate  favors  each  other 
somethin'  surprisin'.  He  always  took  after  his  pop 
more  'n  after  me." 

"Did  n't  you  ever  have  your  picture  taken  with 
'Lyph— the  doctor?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  give  myself  up  to  the  Lord,  and  turned 
plain,  before  'Lypholate  was  born  a 'ready;  and  us 
New  Mennonites  don't  have  our  pictures  took,  because 
you  can  read  in  the  Word:  'Make  no  graven  images.' 
That  's  why  'Lypholate's  pop,  he  would  n't  give  him 
self  up— he  liked  so  well  to  fetch  'Lypholate  to  town 
to  have  his  photograph  took.  Pop  was  always  so 
much  fur  his  boy  that  way.  I  used  to  think  'Lypho 
late  would  n't  never  be  no  account,  his  pop  made  so 
much  fuss  with  him. ' ' 

"But  he  has  been  of  some  account,  has  n't  he? 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

You  must  be  very  proud  of  him, ' '  the  girl  suggested, 
looking  up  into  the  mother's  mild  eyes  with  fire  in 
her  own. 

"Pride  ain't  fur  us.  We  're  loosed  of  all  earthly 
ties,  and  joined  to  Christ.  But,"  she  added,  "  'Ly- 
pholate  's  a  good  son,  fur  all  he  b 'longs  to  the  world. 
He  was  always  so  much  fur  his  books,"  she  began, 
reminiscently,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  with  her 
hands  folded  over  the  open  album  in  her  lap.  "When 
he  come  sixteen  years,  he  would  n't  have  it  no  other 
way  but  he  must  go  to  Millersville  Normal.  '  'Ly- 
pholate,  it  ain't  worth  while,'  I  tole  him.  'You  kin 
read  good  enough  a 'ready.  You  don't  need  no  more 
education.'  But  his  pop,  he  upheld  to  what  'Lypho- 
late  wanted,  so  he  went  and  gradyated  at  Millersville 
Normal.  Well,  I  thought  certainly  that  was  enough ! 
No.  'Lypholate,  then,  he  wanted  to  go  to  college! 
And  then  he  gradyated  at  college  yet!  Now,  think! 
Indeed,  I  never  thought  he  'd  go  so  fur  's  that.  It  's 
too  much."  She  shook  her  head.  "It  ain't  healthy 
fur  any  one  to  have  too  much  education.  It  goes  to 
their  heads.  It  showed  on  'Lypholate  when  he  was 
only  a  little  feller  yet.  He  was  always  so  much  fur 
settin'  by  hisself  and  thinkin'.  And  he  was  now  such 
a  boy  fur  lookin'  at  the  clouds,  'specially  when  they 
was  red  in  the  evenin'.  I  used  to  try,  still,  to  get  him 
away  from  such  ways,  thinkin '  it  was  the  pride  of  the 
eye.  Oh,  to  be  sure,"  she  granted,  "sometimes  a 

26 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

body  kin  see  somepin'  funny  in  the  sky  that  's  pretty, 
but  I  think  them  things  is  a  temptation  of  the  enemy 
of  our  souls  to  lead  us  away  from  Christ." 

Upon  this  novel  view  of  the  beauties  of  nature,  Miss 
Coxe  had  no  comment  to  make.  Instead,  she  drew 
the  mother  back  to  her  son.  "You  say  the  doctor  was 
always  a  good  son  to  you?" 

"Yes,  'ceptin'  that  he  was  always  in  for  havin'  his 
own  way ;  and  he  'd  get  it,  somehow  or  nother.  But 
he  's  a  good  son.  Oh,  yes.  Well,  to  be  sure,  some 
times  he  bothers  me  some.  He  wants  to  spend  his 
money  on  me  and  pop;  and  us,  we  won't  leave  him. 
He  'd  buy  us  anything  he  conceited  we  wanted,  and 
if  it  cost  a  hundred  dollars  yet!  Now,  think!  Oh, 
'Lypholate  ain't  near  that  way  with  his  money!  He 
was  always  fond  of  his  mom  and  pop.  He  'd  pay  fur 
hired  help  fur  me  if  I  'd  leave  him.  But  I  like  to  do 
my  own  servin'." 

"I  was  sure  he  must  be  a  good  son,"  Miss  Coxe 
softly  said,  her  eyes  downcast.  "With  all  his  power, 
he  is  so  tender!" 

"You  think  a  wonderful  sight  of  him,  ain't?"  said 
Elypholate 's  mother. 

"Yes— I  think  very  highly  of  him,"  Miss  Coxe  re 
plied,  with  propriety. 

At  this  instant,  the  sound  of  steps  in  a  room  beyond 
Arrested  them. 

"That  's  'Lypholate  and  pop,"  said  Mrs.  Yingst, 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

rising.  "I  '11  go  tell  'em  you  're  here.  They  kin 
set  with  you  till  I  make  supper." 

Replacing  her  rocking-chair  in  the  corner  from 
which  she  had  taken  it,  she  went  to  the  door,  but 
turned,  with  her  hand  on  the  latch.  "I  'm  makin' 
fried  paunhaus  for  supper.  It  won't  take  long  till 
it  's  cooked  a 'ready,"  she  reassuringly  said. 

She  opened  and  closed  the  door  cautiously,  to  ex 
clude  the  admission  of  %a  possible  fly. 

It  vaguely  crossed  Miss  Coxe's  dizzy  brain  as,  pal 
pitating,  she  awaited  the  doctor's  coming,  that  it  was 
well  she  had  taken  a  luncheon  in  the  dining-car  on 
her  way  from  Philadelphia,  as,  having  thus  staved 
off  starvation,  she  would  not  be  driven  to  tempt  Prov 
idence  by  tampering  with  such  unknown  form  of  diet 
as  " fried  paunhaus." 


IV 


THE  doctor  had  scarcely  time  to  make  an  extremely 
hasty  toilet,  greet  Miss  Coxe  in  the  parlor,  and  pre 
sent  his  white-haired  father,  when  Mrs.  Yingst  ap 
peared  to  announce  that  supper  was  "made." 

The  table,  laid  in  the  spotlessly  clean  kitchen,  was 
crowded  with  many  and  various  little  dishes,  most  of 
which  were,  to  Miss  Coxe's  inexperience,  dark  mys 
teries.  Mrs.  Yingst  was  hospitably  honoring  the  oc- 

28 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

casion  by  using  her  best  plated  silver  and  her  finest 
ten-cent  store-glass  and  china;  and  at  Laura's  and 
the  doctor's  plates  were  napkins. 

The  doctor's  venerable  father  wore  no  coat,  and 
Mrs.  Yingst,  before  taking  her  place  at  the  table,  did 
not  deem  it  essential  to  put  down  her  rolled-up 
sleeves. 

"I  conceited  I  'd  better  mebbe  give  you  a  napkin— 
'Lypholate  's  often  tole  me  city  people  's  used  to 
havin'  'em  every  day,"  Mrs.  Yingst  remarked,  after 
the  long,  silent  "grace."  "  'Lypholate,  when  he  's 
home,  he  now  won 't  eat,  yet,  till  I  get  him  a  napkin ! ' ' 

In  Laura's  soul  there  was  an  agony  of  embarrass 
ment.  Nothing  which  her  fastidious  lover  had  told 
her  of  his  home  had  prepared  her  for  just  such  unique 
conditions  as  these.  Yet  it  was  characteristic  of  her 
that  her  outward  composure  should  be  in  exact  pro 
portion  to  her  inward  agitation.  She  would  not  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  conceal  a  merely  slight  confusion, 
but  such  internal  chaos  as  at  present  possessed  her 
called  for  self-control  and  tact,  and,  summoning  to 
her  aid  as  much  of  these  as  she  could  command,  she 
managed  to  assume  a  manner  of  matter-of-fact  accept 
ance  of  everything  about  her,  except  where  the  be 
trayal  of  surprise  could  not  possibly  offend. 

The  doctor's  manner  helped  her.  Apparently,  he 
was  composedly  indifferent  to  his  parents'  idiosyn- 

29 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

crasies,  and  his  attitude  toward  herself  was  unwont- 
edly  grave  and  reserved.  Had  he  manifested  ner 
vousness  or  embarrassment,  the  ordeal  would  have 
been  too  painful  to  her. 

"I  like  a  napkin,  myself,  when  we  're  got  gravy," 
old  Mr.  Yingst  remarked,  as  he  helped  himself  to  a 
large  piece  of  the  black  paunhaus  and  then  pushed 
the  platter  along  to  Laura. 

The  doctor  at  her  side  helped  her  to  a  small  slice  of 
it.  "You  've  never  tasted  it,  and  you  probably  won't 
like  it.  It  's  pork.  But,"  he  added,  putting  a  gen 
erous  slice  on  his  mother's  plate,  and  another  on  his 
own,  "you  've  no  idea  how  fraught  with  sentiment 
and  poetry  all  these  Lancaster  County  Dutch  dishes 
are  to  me!  Now,  here  's  scalded  cheese,"  he  said, 
pointing  out  what  looked  like  a  large,  flat  cake  of  yel 
low  putty.  "And  'smear-case,'  "  indicating  a  glass 
dish,  filled  with  what  appeared  to  be  slaked  lime. 
"As  for  these  'snits,'  "  he  said,  proceeding  to  put 
into  a  sauce  dish  a  spoonful  of  stewed  dried  apples, 
"my  feelings  at  sight  of  them,  after  a  long  absence, 
almost  render  me  lacrymose." 

"Mebbe  you  favor  apple-butter?"  Mrs.  Yingst  sug 
gested,  pushing  forward  another  glass  dish,  which 
contained  a  dark-colored  concoction  that  resembled 
black  apple  sauce;  "or,  would  you  mebbe  like  currant 
jelly  fur  your  spreadin's?" 

30 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

"I  'm  going  to  taste  the  'apple-butter,'  "  Laura 
gaily  declared.  ''The  unknown  has  ever  a  morbid 
charm  for  me!  And  the  name  'apple-butter'  is  al 
luring.  Now,  Doctor  Yingst,  how  much  of  this  does 
one  take?  And  how  is  it  eaten?  With  a  spoon?" 

"It  's  spreadin's!"  in  astonishment  explained  Mrs. 
Yingst.  "To  spread  on  your  butter-Bread.  Now, 
you  don't  want  to  say  you  never  eat  it  yet?"  she  in 
credulously  asked. 

"I  never  saw  or  heard  of  it  before,"  Laura  laughed, 
"and  I  am  delighted  to  make  its  acquaintance." 

"We  're  great  friends  to  apple-butter,"  said  the 
old  man,  speaking  with  his  mouth  full  of  hot  paun- 
haus.  "Our  apples,  we  pick  'em  hard  so  's  they  don't 
rot  on  us.  It  seems  queer  to  think  you  ain't  never 
tasted  apple-butter!  But  I  know  they  got  awful 
funny  ways  in  New  York.  Well,"  he  added,  watch 
ing  her  as  she  tasted  the  apple-butter,  "how  does  it 
go?" 

"I  never  tasted  anything  more  delicious,"  she  en 
thusiastically  answered. 

When  supper  was  over,  Laura,  seeing  that  there 
was  no  servant  in  the  house,  insisted,  in  spite  of  the 
doctor's  protest,  upon  helping  her  hostess  to  clear  off 
the  table  and  wipe  the  dishes— work  to  which  she 
lent  such  an  unaccustomed  and  unskilful  hand  that 
Mrs.  Yingst  privately  warned  the  doctor  next  day: 

31 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

"You  'd  better  look  furder,  'Lypholate;  she  'd  never 
make  you  a  good  housekeeper.  Oh,  in  some  ways, 
she  's  as  nice  a  young  lady  as  she  otherwise  could  be, 
but  you  could  do  a  sight  better,  'Lypholate— she  's  so 
wonderful  doplig !  To  be  sure,  fur  a  city-raised  girl, 
she  's  that  nice  and  common  I  would  n  't  have  believed 
it.  It  don't  show  at  her  that  she  's  so  tony,  she  makes 
herself  so  common  with  me  and  pop.  But  I  think, 
fur  all,  you  'd  letter  tell  her  you  '11  look  a  little  bit 
around  first  before  you  make  up  your  mind.  She  's 
too  dumb  (stupid)  to  get  married." 

But,  as  will  be  seen,  the  warning  came  too  late. 

By  the  time  "the  supper  work"  was  finished,  Laura 
had  begun  to  look  very  weary  from  her  day's  travel 
and  excitement. 

"You  are  tired,"  the  doctor  gravely  told  her  as  she 
took  off  her  gingham  apron.  "You  must  go  to  bed, 
Laura." 

She  was  aware  of  a  note  in  his  voice  that  she  had 
never  heard  before  and  that  she  did  not  understand. 
"Will  you  show  Miss  Coxe  to  her  room,  mother?" 

"To  be  sure,  if  she  feels  fur  goin'  to  bed.  Can 
you  sleep  cold?"  she  inquired  of  her  guest. 

Laura  looked  unintelligent,  but  the  doctor  came  to 
her  assistance.  "Mother  means  do  you  require  a 
fire  in  your  room.  In  the  apartment  traditionally 
known  as  'the  spare  room,'  in  this  house,  there  is  a 

32 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

stove,  and  a  fire  can  be  lighted  in  a  minute  if  you 
want  it." 

"No,  thank  you.  It  is  n't  cold  enough  to  make 
that  necessary.  I  am  a  bit  tired.  Yes,  I  think  I 
should  like  to  go  to  bed." 

"I  put  a  towel  and  water-pitcher  in  your  room," 
Mrs.  Yingst  said;  "  'Lypholate,  he  says  you  're  like 
what  he  's  got  to  be,  too— you  would  want  to  wash  in 
your  room,  and  not  at  the  pump  like  what  we  do. ' ' 

"Thank  you,"  said  Laura,  vaguely. 

She  bade  the  doctor  and  his  father  good-night ;  and 
then  she  followed  Mrs.  Yingst  up-stairs. 

Doctor  Yingst  put  on  his  hat  and  went  outdoors. 

Slowly  pacing  the  board  walk  in  the  moonlight,  he 
drew  in  a  long,  deep  breath,  and  his  lips  tightened 
over  his  teeth. 

"It  's  all  up,  of  course!"  he  grimly  told  himself. 
' '  I  see  it  all  with  her  eyes  now  and  from  her  point  of 
view.  Her  prejudices  will  never  let  her  marry  me !" 


HE  had  been  strolling  about  in  the  moonlight,  over 
the  lawn,  among  the  flower  beds,  and  even  down  by 
the  vegetable  garden,  when  suddenly  he  was  startled 
by  an  apparition  in  the  path  before  him— the  ghost 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

—as  for  a  moment  he  verily  believed— of  his  fair 
lady. 

The  sound  of  her  voice  scarcely  reassured  him,  so 
wraith-like  appeared  her  pale  face  and  bright  eyes  in 
the  light  of  the  garden. 

"I  saw  you  from  my  window— and  I  found  I  was 
not  sleepy  after  all— and  the  night  is  so  beautiful— I 
thought  I  would  come  down  to  you. ' ' 

He  looked  down  into  her  eyes  upraised  to  his  as  she 
stood  before  him  in  the  path. 

What  was  it,  he  asked  himself,  that  he  read  in 
them?  Something  which  made  the  hot  blood  surge 
up  to  his  temples  and  beat  there. 

He  ventured  to  take  her  two  hands  in  his  own  and 
clasp  them.  "Laura!  Is  your  love  for  me,  then,  so 
strong— and  so  true?" 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  she  whispered  as,  yielding  her 
hands  to  his  clasp,  she  leaned  against  him,  "I  have  no 
language  to  express  my  pride  in  you— that  just  by 
your  own  power — unaided,  and  against  every  adverse 
condition— you  have  made  yourself  what  you  are ! ' ' 

"Is  that  the  way  you  look  at  it,  Laura?" 

"How  else  could  I  look  at  it?" 

"Your  family  pride,  my  darling— your  own  rear 
ing  in  a  cultured  home— your  prejudices— your  very 
instincts—" 

"Yes— I  have  all  these  limitations,  I  acknowledge 

34 


The  Betrothal  of  Elypholate 

it.  But,  somehow,  they  are  not  troubling  me  to-night. 
I  can't  make  myself  feel  them.  What  fills  all  my 
heart  is  the  thought  of  how  great  has  been  your  faith 
in  me,  that  you  have  so  frankly  challenged  my  love 
by  bringing  me  face  to  face  with  what  you  knew  those 
of  my  world  would  be  tempted  to  despise." 

"And  you  do  not  despise  it?" 

"Dear,"  she  said,  drawing  her  hands  from  his 
clasp  and  laying  them  on  his  shoulders,  "believe  me, 
the  happiness  you  and  I  have  hoped  for  is  not  men 
aced  by  anything  I  have  learned  this  day.  Only 
by-" 

' '  Laura !  By  what  ?    Tell  me,  dearest ! ' ' 

"By  any  least  approach  on  your  part  to  an  un 
worthy  shame  for  these  simple,  genuine  people  who 
love  you  so  much  and  who  have  given  you  to  the 
world— and  to  me!" 


THE  REFORMING  OF 
A  BRIDEGROOM 


THE   REFORMING  OF 
A  BRIDEGROOM 


EVINA'S  most  conspicuous  characteristic  was  an 
overpowering  and  quite  uncurbed  propensity  to 
set  people  right  whom  she  considered  to  be  in  the 
wrong.  Her  youngest  and  prettiest  sister,  who  had 
recently  become  Mrs.  Gideon  Lapp,  was  just  at  pres 
ent  in  need  of  her  attention.  Mrs.  Gideon  was  pur 
suing  a  course  which  must  ultimately  lead  to  her  un 
doing,  and  Lavina  was  bent  upon  heading  her  off. 

"She  's  getting  her  mister  that  spoilt  with  her 
yielding  ways— if  I  don't  go  over  there  this  Easter 
vacation  and  learn  her— teach  her, ' '  she  corrected  her 
English,  "the  way  she  had  ought  to  train  that  Giddy 
Lapp,  she  '11  be  so  set  in  her  weak  ways  with  him  and 
he  '11  be  so  used  to  walking  all  over  her  (like  all  the 
other  Dutch  in  these  parts  walk  over  their  females) 
it  '11  be  too  late  to  mend." 

This  was  Lavina 's  conclusion  after  the  third  letter 
received  from  Mrs.  Gideon  since  her  marriage  to  the 
widower,  Gideon  Lapp.  Not  that  Mrs.  Gideon  com- 

39 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

plained  of  her  Giddy."  On  the  contrary,  she 
praised  him  in  her  letters  as  "a  good  purvider"  and 
"a  wonderful  steady  man."  But  in  almost  every 
line  that  she  wrote  she  unconsciously  Betrayed  to  La- 
vina  his  sore  need  of  wifely  discipline. 

"I  ain't  been  on  compny,"  she  wrote  her  sister, 
"but  except  once  since  me  and  Giddy  was  married 
aready.  Giddy  he  ain't  much  for  goin.  When  he 
has  his  supper  eat  he  likes  to  set  at  home,  still,  even 
ings,  and  read  his  paper.  He  won't  do  it  to  go  even 
Sundays.  Last  Sunday  me  and  him  have  been  on 
church  the  first  time  since  we  was  married  aready. 

"Giddy  's  so  sneaky  (choicy)  about  his  wittles,  I 
get  all  up-mixed  makin  his  meals  to  suit  him  he  's  that 
partikkeller.  That  novel  book  you  sent  I  did  n't  get 
read  all.  Giddy  he  don't  favor  novel  readin'  and 
when  he  's  setting  readin'  his  noospaper  evenings,  still, 
he  says  he  'd  sooner  see  me  by  the  table  sewin  and 
makin  good  use  of  my  time  than  wastin  it  on  them 
novel  books.  So  you  best  not  send  me  no  more  of 
them  novels  Lavina  fur  all  Ide  like  wonderful  well  to 
read  through  that  there  novel  you  sent  me  entitled 
Deserted  at  the  Alter.  That  there  villain  in  it 
was  n't  he  something  fierce.  The  things  he  done  yet! 
Why  Lavina  he  was  the  worst  man  I  ever  seen  before. 
But  Giddy  he  don't  want  fur  me  to  finish  it 
through." 

40 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

' '  To  think, ' '  Lavina  had  exclaimed  on  reading  this, 
"that  she  'd  take  that  off  of  him!  Him  sitting  there 
reading  his  paper,  and  Katy  she  has  n't  the  dare  to 
waste  her  time  reading  a  novel  (with  a  good  moral  to 
it,  too)  but  has  to  sew  till  bedtime!  I  'd  teach  him 
once!  I  'd  tell  him  if  I  could  n't  read  my  novel  he 
had  n't  the  dare  to  read  his  noospaper,  which  is  full 
of  false  lies,  anyhow,  and  corrupting  to  the  morals! 
If  he  'd  give  up  his  paper  I  'd  give  up  my  novels. 
Not  unlest." 

The  letter  containing  this  most  disturbing  of  all 
Katy's  revelations  as  to  her  submission  to  conjugal 
tyranny  had  reached  Lavina  on  an  evening  when  her 
perturbation  over  it  was  aggravated  by  the  fact  that 
the  day  had  been  a  very  unsatisfactory  one  in  her 
school-room;  for  Lavina  was  the  "up-stairs  teacher" 
in  a  village  school  of  Upper  Leacock  Township  in 
Lancaster  County,  Pennsylvania. 

"As  a  success  I  'm  a  failure,"  she  told  herself  se 
verely  when,  after  she  had  given  an  ' '  Object  Lesson ' ' 
to  show  her  geography  class  what  a  volcano  was,  the 
class,  subsequently  asked  to  define  a  volcano,  had,  to 
a  man,  answered  that  a  volcano  was  a  pile  of  sand 
with  a  shooting  cracker  stuck  in  the  top;  and  when 
asked  to  write  an  account  of  how  the  mountains  were 
formed,  Sophie  Schnabel  had  briefly  inscribed  her 
answer,  "By  God's  almighty  power."  Lavina  did 

41 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

not  know  how  to  mark  such  an  answer  as  that.  It 
could  n't  be  called  incorrect.  Yet  it  certainly  was 
not  scientific,  nor  would  it  pass  in  an  examination. 
The  question  "Describe  how  savage  people  dress," 
had  brought  the  inadequate  answer,  "How  they 
dress— they  don't  dress;  only  except  a  string  of 
beads  around  the  neck." 

Such  a  day  in  school  had  so  intensified  her  sense  of 
Gideon  Lapp 's  need  of  marital  discipline  that  before 
she  slept  that  night  she  firmly  resolved  to  spend  the 
approaching  Easter  holiday  at  Katy's,  in  order  to  set 
her  right  in  the  management  of  her  husband. 

Lavina  was  the  emancipated  member  of  her  family. 
Her  two  younger  sisters  and  one  younger  brother  had 
all  submitted  without  question  to  the  characteristic 
Pennsylvania  Dutch  parental  authority  which  had 
condemned  them  to  a  life  of  drudgery  on  the  farm, 
the  most  rigid  economy,  and  scant  schooling.  Her 
father  was  well-to-do,  and  his  refusal  to  allow  her 
more  education  than  the  district  school  afforded  had 
led  to  her  rebelliously  leaving  home  and  "hiring  out" 
in  order  to  earn  the  necessary  money  for  a  term  at 
' '  the  Normal. ' '  The ' '  hired  girl ' '  among  the  farmers ' 
families  of  her  acquaintance  was  a  person  of  distinc 
tion  in  the  household,  so  Lavina  was  not  at  all  pre 
pared  for  the  sort  of  behavior  expected  of  her  by  the 
fastidious  town  family  by  whom  she  was  engaged  as 

42 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

dining-room  girl.  She  came  near  to  being  discharged 
the  very  first  time  she  waited  on  the  table,  when,  as 
she  stood  behind  her  mistress's  chair,  silver  tray  in 
hand,  one  of  the  young  daughters  of  the  family  made 
a  remark  about  her  geography  lesson  of  that  day,  a 
lesson  on  glaciers,  and  Lavina,  her  sense  of  the  duty 
of  the  moment  overcoming  her  country  shyness,  sud 
denly  lifted  up  her  voice  and  delivered  herself,  over 
the  head  of  her  mistress,  of  a  volley  of  district  school- 
book  information  on  glaciers,  to  the  consternation  of 
the  family. 

The  lessons  she  received  from  this  family  in 
"learning  her  place"  were  a  shock  to  all  her  public 
school  ideas  of  American  equality.  But  her  experi 
ences  with  city  gentlefolk  revealed  to  her,  by  force  of 
contrast,  what  her  mind  was  ripened  for  perceiving— 
the  uncivilized  life  led  by  many  Pennsylvania  Dutch 
women;  their  inhuman  drudgery;  their  subservience 
to  masculine  authority ;  their  dreary  lack  of  pleasure 
and  diversion,  and  their  sordid  economy;  and  from 
her  domestic  apprenticeship  in  the  city,  she  came  back 
to  her  own  people  a  reformer.  Ever  since  that  time, 
through  all  her  experiences  as  a  student  at  the  Nor 
mal  school  and  as  village  school-teacher,  she  had  peri 
odically  swooped  down  upon  one  of  her  sisters  or  cou 
sins  with  the  fell  purpose  of  putting  them  to  rights 
where  she  saw  they  needed  it. 

43 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 


II 


"Ip  Giddy  come  home  unexpected  and  seen  us  settin' 
in  here!"  Lavina 's  sister  laughed  nervously,  as, 
after  opening  the  front-room  shutters  just  enough  to 
admit  a  faint  ray  of  light  (not  enough  to  fade  her 
best  ingrain  carpet),  she  sat  down  carefully  on  her 
elegant  "stuffed"  red  plush  rocking-chair,  while  La- 
vina,  with  an  air  of  resolution,  seated  herself  on  the 
equally  elegant  and  also  stuffed  sofa. 

"Well?  What  if?"  Lavina  demanded.  "What  's 
a  parlor  for?  To  shut  up  dark  and  never  use  any? 
Is  that  what  you  furnished  for?  Who  paid  for  your 
furniture,  anyhow?  Gideon  Lapp?  No!  Pop,  to  be 
sure.  Then  what  right  has  Gideon  Lapp  to  say  you 
have  n't  the  dare  to  use  your  parlor  when  you  want? 
Every  day  if  it  suits  you  to ! " 

"He  'd  say  the  carpet  would  get  some  fadey  fur 
me.  And  the  stuffed  furniture  so  pressed  down." 

"Well,  what  's  carpet  and  furniture  for?"  Lavina 
reasoned,  patiently.  "7s  it  made  to  use  or  ain't  it? 
I  ain't  sitting  in  your  kitchen,  Katy  Lapp !  I  'm  used 
to  better  ways,  and  when  I  'm  with  you,  you  're  goin' 
to  have  better  ways,  too.  That  long  anyhow— till  I 
go  again.  It  '11  maybe  do  you  good." 

"But  you  '11  set  with  me  and  Giddy  out  in  the 

44 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

kitchen,  evenings,  so  long  as  you  're  here;  ain't, 
Laviny?"  Katy  anxiously  inquired.  "Giddy,  he 
won't  do  it  to  set  in  here  in  the  parlor!  He  won't 
can  home  hisself  in  here!" 

"Then  leave  him  sit  by  himself  if  he  has  to  act  so 
common !  Katy,  you  got  to  teach  him  once. ' ' 

Katy  gazed  at  her  sister  in  mingled  admiration  and 
awe. 

"I  could  n't  ever  speak  up  to  Giddy,"  she  shook 
her  head  dolefully. 

"Nor  to  any  one  else,  Katy,"  Lavina  reproached 
her.  ' '  If  you  'd  demanded  your  rights  off  of  Pop  the 
way  I  did,  you  might  be  where  I  am— a  school-teacher. 
Independent,  instead  of  being  a  slave  to  Gideon  Lapp. 
What  did  you  marry  him  for,  anyhow?  If  you  had 
to  marry  someone,  you  could  have  done  better  than 
him— as  pretty  and  as  young  as  you  are,"  said  La 
vina,  with  a  softened  note  of  sisterly  affection. 

"Och,"  said  Katy,  coquettishly,  "I  married  him  to 
get  rid  of  him  oncet!" 

"A  mighty  poor  way  to  get  rid  of  a  man!  I 
could  n't  think  of  a  poorer!" 

Katy  sighed.    "That  's  so,  too,"  she  admitted. 

But  "poor-spirited"  as  Mrs.  Gideon  looked,  she 
was  not,  apparently,  the  unhappy  victim  of  marital 
tyranny  that  Lavina  determined  to  consider  her. 
Her  evident  contentment  in  her  state  of  bondage,  and 

45 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

her  entire  acquiescence  in  everything  against  which 
she  ought  to  have  rebelled,  tried  Lavina's  patience 
sorely.  For  instance,  why,  in  the  face  of  all  the 
causes  for  dissatisfaction  which  she  had  been  point 
ing  out  to  her,  should  Katy  just  now  be  gazing  about 
her  front  room  with  a  countenance  of  complacent 
pride,  instead  of  indignation,  the  sentiment  she  ought 
to  feel  against  a  man  who  would  presume  to  keep  her 
from  using  freely  any  room  in  her  house  she  pleased 
to  use — especially  one  furnished  by  her  own  father? 
Lavina  almost  despaired  as  she  saw  how  little  impres 
sion  her  emancipated  views  had  made  upon  her  sister. 
Even  in  Lavina's  eyes  Katy's  parlor  was  truly  ele 
gant.  The  crayon  portrait  of  Gideon's  first  wife  (of 
quite  inhuman  outline)  on  a  white  and  gilt  easel  was 
a  most  desirable  piece  of  furniture ;  the  easel  had  been 
purchased  by  Katy  at  the  ninety-nine  cent  store. 
Over  the  top  of  the  portrait  a  scarf  of  cream  bunting 
was  artistically  draped,  tied  in  the  middle  with  pink 
satin  ribbon.  On  a  low  table,  set  like  a  shrine  before 
the  easel,  stood  a  floral  tribute  made  of  wax,  techni 
cally  known  as  "the  vacant  chair."  A  highly  decor 
ated  china  cuspidor,  a  chromo  of  McKinley  with  apo 
plectic  complexion,  a  row  of  china  ornaments  on  the 
mantel,  a  framed  motto,  "We  Mourn  Our  Loss" — 
with  a  weeping  willow  in  the  center,  worked  on  can 
vas  in  zephyr— these  were  the  objects  in  which  La- 

46 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

vina,  as  Katy's  sister,  could  not  help  feeling  an  ex 
cusable  pride. 

"I  wonder  if  Melinda  Sourbeer's  front  room  's 
as  handsome,"  Katy  remarked  meditatively.  "Do 
you  think?" 

"Katy  Lapp!  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  n't 
been  over  to  Melinda  Sourbeer's  since  you  married 
and  came  to  this  neighborhood— and  Melinda  your 
cousin  yet!" 

"Giddy,  he  ain't  much  fur  goin',"  Katy  weakly 
answered,  cowering  before  Lavina's  disapproval. 

"Then  why  don't  you  go  without  him?" 

"He  ain't  much  fur  me  goin'  neither.  He  says  he 
feels  wonderful  contented  stayin'  home  with  me." 

"With  you  sitting  by  mending  his  old  clothes  while 
he  reads  his  noospapers!" 

Katy  could  not  deny  it,  though  she  looked  apolo 
getic. 

"It  ain't  the  point  whether  he  's  wonderful  con 
tented,"  pursued  Lavina.  "The  point  is,  are  you 
contented  staying  at  home  with  him?" 

Katy  sighed.  "I  never  follow  pleasure  no  more, 
Laviny,  I  don't  even  think  about  pleasure  no  more. 
And  I  'm  goin'  backwards— I  'm  less  fur  pleasure 
every  day.  I  'm  just  gettin'  dumnl"  (stupid). 

"How  far  does  Melinda  live?"  Lavina  demanded. 

"Just  over  the  church." 

47 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

"All  right— you  're  going  along  with  me  after  sup 
per  to  see  Melinda. ' ' 

"Mister,  he  won't  want  fur  me  to  do  it." 

Lavina  set  her  lips.  "It  's  well  I  came  here  when 
I  did,  Katy!  You  're  getting  that  man  so  spoilt 
up!  You  started  wrong.  It  ain't  too  late  yet  to 
mend  your  ways  with  him,  but  if  it  had  went— gone- 
much  longer,  you  could  n't  ever  have  done  anything 
with  him.  You  're  just  training  him  to  be  selfish 
and  make  a  slave  of  you.  Yes,  it  's  well  I  came  when 
I  did." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Laviny?"  Katy  won- 
deringly  and  fearfully  inquired. 

"Teach  you  how  to  take  your  rights  and  not  be 
walked  over." 

"I  'd  sooner  live  peaceable." 

"But  don't  you  see  it  's  your  duty  not  to  make  him 
so  selfish?  And,  Katy,"  confidentially,  "he  '11  think 
enough  more  of  you  for  not  letting  him  down  you. 
Teach  him  to  respect  you,  Katy,"  said  Lavina,  with 
an  air  of  hauteur. 

This  was  an  idea  too  foreign  to  be  grasped  by  an 
unemancipated  Pennsylvania  Dutch  feminine  mind. 

"  'Respect'  me,  Laviny!  Why,  I  'm  only  his 
woman!" 

"And  who  should  a  man  respect  more  than  his 
wife?"  Lavina  reasoned  ungrammatically. 

48 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

Katy  gave  it  up. 

"Look  here,  Katy,  leave  us  go  to  town  this  after 
and  shop." 

Katy's  eyes  sparkled.  "0  Laviny!  I  wisht  I 
could!  I  ain't  been  to  town  to  shop  since  I  was  mar 
ried,  it  's  two  months  back.  But  Giddy 's  work  's  so 
early  done,  he  gets  home  till  five  o'clock  a 'ready, 
still." 

"We  can  get  back  till  five  if  we  start  right  away." 

"If  we  missed  a  car  and  was  late  gettin'  home!" 
Katy  suggested  apprehensively  but  wistfully. 

"Then  Giddy  will  wait  for  his  supper  till  he  gets 
it,  see?" 

"0  Laviny!      He  'd  have  so  cross  at  me!" 

' '  Leave  him ! "    ( Let  him. ) 

"0  Laviny!"  Katy  sighed. 

"Come  on  up  and  get  your  things  on." 

"If  you  was  n't  here,  I  would  n't  dare  to,"  said 
Katy,  as  with  mingled  eagerness  and  trepidation  she 
yielded. 

"Would  n't  dare  to  go  to  town  when  you  want?" 

"Giddy,  he  ain't  much  fur  me  goin'  nowheres. 
He  'd  ruther  I  'd  stay  home  and  do  the  work." 

But  under  the  spell  of  Lavina's  stronger  will,  Katy 
entered  with  girlish  pleasure  into  the  shopping  ex 
cursion. 

"Where  's  your  purse,  Katy?    Take  your  money 

49 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

with,"  Lavina  admonished  her  as  they  were  about  to 
start. 

"I  ain't  got  none— only  a  couple  of  dollars  house 
money. ' ' 

"Don't  he  ever  give  you  spending  money  for  your 
self,  as  well  fixed  as  he  is?" 

' '  When  I  ast  him  fur  somepin '  I  got  to  have,  he  '11 
mebbe  give  it  to  me,  if  he  's  sure  I  need  it  bad." 

' '  I  'd  run  him  in  debt  till  he  'd  give  me  such  an  al 
lowance!  I  'd  plague  him  till  he  did  what  I 
wanted!" 

"OLaviny!" 

' '  Spend  that  house  money  this  after,  and  he  '11  have 
to  give  you  more." 

"Oh,  I  darsent!" 

"Take  the  dare!" 

When  they  reached  the  town,  the  temptation  of  the 
shops,  together  with  Lavina 's  strong  backing,  was  too 
much  for  Katy,  and  she  recklessly  squandered  over 
two  dollars  in  gewgaws. 

The  reaction  from  her  high  spirits  set  in  on  the  way 
home. 

"We  won't  be  back  in  time  for  me  to  get  on  my  old 
frock  before  Giddy  gets  home,"  she  lamented.  "If 
he  did  n't  see  me  dressed,  he  need  n't  know  we  went 
this  after." 

"He  '11  have  to  know  it  when  you  tell  him  the  house 
money  's  all,"  said  Lavina. 

50 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

"Mebbe  you  'd  leave  me  borry  the  loan  of  them  two 
dollars  off  of  you,  Laviny,"  Katy  timidly  suggested. 

"How  would  you  ever  get  the  money  to  pay  it  back, 
without  you  told  Giddy  about  it?" 

"That  's  so,  too,"  sighed  Katy. 

"Why  should  I— a  self-supporting,  hard-working 
female— pay  Giddy  Lapp's  wife's  bills,  and  him  so 
well  fixed?  It  ain't  the  two  dollars,  Katy.  If  you 
needed  money  I  'd  share  my  last  dime  with  you,  and 
that  you  know.  But  I  ain't  giving  Giddy  Lapp  a 
nickel!  And  I  ain't  encouraging  your  foolish  ways 
with  him." 

"I  wisht,"  Katy  monotonously  repeated,  "I  could 
get  my  workin'  frock  on  before  he  comes  home.  But 
it  's  gettin'  late  on  us;  ain't?" 

"Now  see  here,  Katy— just  you  keep  this  here  dress 
on  (you  won't  dirty  it  any  just  getting  a  little  sup 
per)  and  face  him  out  with  it.  Just  tell  him  cheer 
ful,  'I  was  to  town  with  Lavina  this  after'— take  it 
perfectly  natural— and  what  can  he  say?" 

To  Lavina 's  surprise,  Katy  broke  into  a  paroxysm 
of  laughter. 

"Well?"  Lavina  inquired.  "What  's  comic  about 
it?" 

' '  How  Giddy  'd  look,  yet,  if  I  tole  him  just  offhand 
and  cheerful  that  way,  'I  was  to  town!'— without 
astin'  him  dare  I!  He  'd  be  that  wonderful  sur 
prised!"— and  again  her  laughter  made  her  helpless. 

51 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

"Well,  then,  up  and  do  it,  if  it  's  so  comic,"  La- 
vina  urged. 

"I  wisht  I  could  oncet,"  chuckled  Katy.  "If  a 
body  had  n't  such  nervous  feelings  when  they  go  to 
do  them  things!" 

"You  would  n't  have  to  do  any  of  those  things 
more  'n  a  couple  times,  Katy — he  'd  soon  get  taught. ' ' 

When  they  reached  home,  Gideon  had  not  yet  ar 
rived,  and  Lavina  did  actually  succeed  in  persuading 
Katy  not  to  change  her  dress. 

"You  'd  have  to  put  it  on  again  to  go  to  Melinda's 
after  supper,"  she  reminded  her  sister. 

"Mebbe  Giddy  won't  leave  me  have  dare  to  go  to 
Melinda's,"  Katy  feebly  demurred. 

"You  just  leave  me  manage  it,  Katy.  You  have 
your  joke  and  your  laugh  in  telling  Gideon  you  were 
to  town  and  are  going  on  company  to-night  (you 
think  it  's  so  comic),  and  I  '11  manage  him  if  he 
makes  anything"  (makes  a  fuss). 

Gideon  and  his  sixteen-year-old  son  came  in  while 
they  were  setting  the  supper-table.  He  was  a  stout, 
comfortable-looking  man  of  middle  age,  the  good-na 
tured  expression  of  his  commonplace  and  rather 
heavy  face  indicating  that  his  shortcomings  as  a  hus 
band  were  due  to  the  influences  of  environment  rather 
than  to  natural  baseness. 

He  greeted  Lavina  stolidly,  but  kindly. 

52 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

"Katy  had  wonderful  glad  when  you  wrote  her  off 
a  letter  that  you  was  comin'  till  Easter,"  he  said  cor 
dially.  "This  here,"  indicating  his  heavily-built, 
awkward  son  who  hung  back,  overcome  with  shyness, 
"is  my  son  Jakey." 

Jakey  limply  shook  her  hand  and  then  slunk  into 
his  place  at  the  supper-table. 

"Why,  Katy!"  Gideon's  surprised  glance  fell  upon 
his  wife  in  her  best  blue  dress.  "Did  you  put  on 
your  best  frock  because  Laviny  was  comin'?" 

"Yes,"  said  Katy,  perjuring  her  soul.  "Where 
have  I  my  jug  put?"  she  quickly  added  to  divert  his 
attention.  "Have  I  it  set  on  the  table?  Och,  yes, 
there  it  is.  Supper  ain't  quite  fixed  all,  Giddy.  The 
potatoes  ain't  made  quite." 

"Is  it  that  you  was  mebb'e  settin*  round  talkin'  to 
Laviny  till  it  got  late  on  you— ain't?"  he  asked  sus 
piciously  and  with  a  note  of  disapproval  in  his  voice. 

"To  be  sure  I  'd  set  a  while  with  my  sister  when 
she  come,"  Katy  answered,  with  quite  unwonted 
spirit;  and  Lavina  rejoiced  inwardly  at  seeing  that 
her  instructions  were  taking  effect. 

"It  won't  do  your  best  frock  no  good— makin'  sup 
per  in  it,"  Gideon  remarked  disparagingly. 

"You  think?"  Katy  retorted  disrespectfully. 

With  her  first  word  of  self-assertion,  something 
within  her  had  seemed  to  break  loose,  and  a  sudden 

53 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

buoyancy  of  spirit  stirred  her  such  as  she  had  never 
known  before  in  all  her  life. 

Gideon  stared.  "Well,"  he  grunted,  "hurry  on 
and  make  the  things  on  the  table.  Have  you  the  but 
ter  and  milk  up  cellar?" 

"I  brang  them  up  this  long  time  a 'ready.  They  're 
on  the  sill  settin'.  I  must  cut  my  bananas  now. 
Laviny,  she  likes  bananas  so  sliced  and  milk  with." 

"Bananas  costs  expensive,"  Gideon  objected. 

"You  're  well  fixed  enough,  Giddy,"  Katy  defied 
him. 

Gideon's  jaw  fell  in  astonishment.  But  his  atten 
tion  was  attracted  by  an  unfamiliar  object  on  the 
table.  "What  's  this  here?"  he  demanded,  picking 
up  a  new  dish  and  examining  it.  ' '  Did  Laviny  bring 
you  this  along  fur  a  present?" 

For  an  instant  "the  enemy"  (the  devil)  assailed 
Katy,  and  she  was  tempted  to  lie  ignominiously.  But 
after  a  moment's  struggle  she  conquered  not  only  the 
enemy,  but  her  own  cowardice. 

"Ain't  it  a  fine  thing  of  a  dish,  Giddy?  I  got  it 
at  the  ten-cent  store.  It  looks  handsome  on  the  table, 
ain't?" 

Gideon  regarded  her  coldly.  "When  was  you  at 
the  ten-cent  store?" 

"This  after.  Laviny,  she  asked  me  would  I  go  in 
town  along  with  her. ' ' 

Gideon  strode  over  to  the  dresser  to  wash  his  hands. 

54 


H 


I 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

"You  let  all  your  work  standing  did  you?"  he  asked 
over  his  shoulder. 

"I  had  it  through  all  before  I  went." 

"I  guess  you  could  of  found  a  plenty  to  do  if  you 
had  of  wanted  to  find  it." 

'  *  But  you  see,  Giddy, ' '  she  retorted  with  a  perfunc 
tory  cheerfulness  of  tone,  "I  did  n't  want."  And 
Katy  shrieked  with  laughter  at  her  own  audacity, 
while  Gideon  looked  amazed  and  angry. 

"Where  did  you  get  the  money  to  spend?"  he  de 
manded. 

' '  I  took  the  house  money.  You  never  let  no  money 
fur  me,  Giddy,"  she  complained. 

"You  took  and  spent  the  house  money!"  he  asked 
in  consternation,  while  his  son  heard,  with  dropped 
jaw,  this  unwifely  defiance.  "How  much  did  you 
spend  all?" 

"Two  dollars  and  fourteen  cents,"  Katy  boldly 
answered. 

Gideon's  face  flushed  up  to  his  hair.  "What  d'  you 
buy  all  ? "  he  inquired  huskily. 

"Some  collars  and  cuffs  like  what  Laviny  has. 
They  come  to  a  quarter.  Then  I  got  such  a  center 
piece—wonderful  stylish— fur  the  parlor  table.  And 
a  sofy  cushion  with  Dewey  on.  And  some  dishes  and 
some  ribbon." 

Gideon  could  hardly  believe  his  ears.  "All  with 
out  astin'  me  dare  you?" 

57 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

"I  'm  of  age,  I  guess,  Giddy,"  she  pouted. 

"Do  I  work  all  day  at  the  shop  fur  you  to  fool 
away  my  money  where  I  earn  and  waste  your  time 
so  's  you  don't  earn  your  keep?" 

Lavina's  face  flushed  as  dark  as  Gideon's  at  these 
words,  and  she  set  her  lips  and  turned  her  back  on 
him  very  expressively. 

"We  've  been  married  together  two  months, 
Giddy,"  said  Katy,  "and  them  two  dollars  is  the 
first  money  of  yourn  I  spent  on  myself.  And  it  's 
the  first  time  I  was  to  town  since  I  went  with 
you  in  to  say  'Yes.'  So  you  ain't  got  no  need  to 
jaw." 

"If  you  want  to  spend,  you  ast  me  first,"  he  said 
with  decision.  "I  ain't  makin'  up  that  house  money 
to  you.  You  '11  have  to  get  along  without. ' ' 

' '  That  '11  be  your  loss  more  'n  mine,  Giddy.  It  's 
you  will  miss  the  good  wittles  on  the  table.  Most  any 
thing  does  me." 

The  supper  passed  in  a  constrained  silence,  broken 
only  by  an  occasional  exchange  of  forced  remarks  be 
tween  Lavina  and  Katy.  Gideon  thought,  by  main 
taining  a  dignified  demeanor,  to  crush  in  his  erstwhile 
dutiful  spouse  this  new  spirit  of  unwifely  insubor 
dination.  It  was  "that  Laviny,"  doubtless,  who  had 
"put  Katy  up"  to  this  strange  and  quite  impossible 
behavior. 

58 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

But  Katy  had  tasted  of  the  sweets  of  independence 
and  was  not  to  be  so  easily  crushed.  Gideon's  lack  of 
conversation  left  her  apparently  unconcerned,  though 
to  be  sure  she  was  not  without  some  internal  quakings 
at  her  own  temerity. 

After  supper  Lavina  and  Katy  hurried  "to  get  the 
supper  dishes  through,"  and  Gideon,  with  a  deeply 
offended  air,  seated  himself  by  the  kitchen  lamp  with 
one  sheet  of  the  newspaper,  while  his  son,  Jakey,  took 
the  other  sheet. 

Behind  Gideon's  back,  Lavina,  as  she  dried  the 
dishes,  executed  a  pantomime  expressing  her  deter 
mination  to  take  Katy  over  to  their  cousin  Melinda's. 
Katy  moved  her  lips  in  a  soundless  protest  that  she 
must  draw  the  line  somewhere.  But  Lavina  suc 
ceeded  in  overcoming  her  objections. 

When  their  work  was  finished,  instead  of  drawing 
about  the  lamp,  they  both  went  up-stairs,  coming 
down  in  a  moment  wearing  their  hats  and  coats. 
Katy's  face  was  flushed  and  her  manner  nervous. 
She  feared  she  was  going  too  far. 

Gideon's  eyes  grew  stony  when  he  looked  up  from 
his  paper  and  saw  her. 

"What  now?"  he  inquired,  with  ponderous  dis 
approval  in  his  tone  and  countenance.  "What  you 
got  your  things  on  fur?" 

"Fur  goin'  on  company,  Giddy,"  Katy  tremulously 

59 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

answered.  "Me  and  Laviny  conceited  we  'd  go  to 
Melindy's  over." 

"I  don't  want  you  fur  to  go  over  there,"  asserted 
Gideon  autocratically.  "You  've  been  runnin' 
more  'n  enough  to-day  a 'ready.  Ain't  all  afternoon 
enough  to  do  you? — without  you  must  be  goin'  even 
ings,  too?  You  stay  at  home  and  do  your  sewin'  or 
snitzin'  or  whatever." 

"Laviny  won't  be  here  but  a  couple  days, 
Giddy,  and  she  wants  me  to  go  with— to  Melindy's." 

"I  don't  want  you  fur  to  go  this  evening.  I  tell 
you,  you  wasted  enough  time  to-day.  I  don't  believe 
in  these  females  that  's  so  much  fur  goin'.  You  just 
set  at  home. ' ' 

Katy  wavered  and  looked  at  her  sister  for  support. 

"Are  you  ready  for  going,  Katy?"  Lavina  .in 
quired,  moving  toward  the  door. 

"Yes,  7  'm  ready,"  Katy  forced  herself  to  answer 
bravely,  though  she  trembled  as  she  followed  her  sis 
ter  across  the  room.  "Giddy,"  she  turned  to  speak 
to  him  plaintively,  "you  have  n't  the  dare  to  make 
me  stay  home  all  the  time." 

"You  mean  to  tell  me  you  're  goin'?"  he  demanded 
incredulously. 

"Yes,  I  'm  goin',  Giddy,"  she  defied  him,  but  there 
were  tears  in  her  voice. 

"The  paper  wants  rain,"  he  put  up  an  objection. 

60 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

"Then  we  need  n't  take  umbrellas  or  gums"  (over 
shoes),  said  Lavina  sarcastically.  "It  '11  be  clear  till 
we  get  back." 

"You  're  slightin'  your  work  to  go  runnin'," 
Giddy  rebuked  her  scathingly.  "They  ain't  any 
coals  up  fur  the  kitchen  fire.  Mebbe  it  '11  go  out  till 
you  're  home  a 'ready." 

"What  's  the  matter  with  your  bringing  up  a 
bucket  of  coal,  Gideon,"  suggested  Lavina  pleasantly. 

"It  ain't  fur  the  mister  to  do  the  housework,"  Gid 
eon  growled. 

"Well,  if  the  fire  goes  out  for  want  of  coal — with 
you  two  able-bodied  men  sitting  here  loafing  over  your 
noospapers— it  could  go  out— and  stay  out,  too,  before 
I  'd  ever  make  it  up  again.  Come  on,  Katy. ' ' 

She  laid  her  hand  on  Katy's  arm  and  drew  her 
after  her  as  she  opened  the  door. 

"Look  at  here !  How  long  are  yous  going  to  stay?" 
Gideon  angrily  inquired. 

"I  don't  know  right  what  fur  time  we  '11  be  back," 
Katy  answered  flippantly,  her  stock  of  courage  rein 
forced  by  Lavina 's  support. 

"Yous  be  home  till  nine  o'clock,"  commanded  Gid 
eon  threateningly. 

"We  '11  be  home  till  we  please,  Gideon,"  said  La 
vina. 

"I  'm  a-goin'  to  outen  the  lights  and  lock  the  doors 

6l 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

and  windows  at  nine,"  he  affirmed.  "If  yous  ain't 
here  yous  can  stay  out  all  night!" 

Katy  again  wavered  at  this  and  would  have  backed 
out,  but  Lavina  drew  her  on. 

"If  he  locks  us  out,  I  '11  take  you  home  with  me, 
Katy,  to  Upper  Leacock." 

"0  Laviny!"  Katy  gasped,  but-  she  allowed  her 
self  to  be  led  away— while  Gideon,  nonplussed,  gazed 
after  them  in  dumb  amazement  and  displeasure. 


Ill 


KATY'S  enjoyment  of  the  unaccustomed  dissipation  of 
a  visit  to  her  cousin  Melinda  at  the  other  side  of  the 
village,  was  much  tempered  by  her  anxiety  as  to  the 
outcome  of  her  insubordination. 

Melinda  received  them  in  her  kitchen,  her  parlor 
fire  not  being  lighted,  and  all  Pennsylvania  Dutch 
kitchens  being  living-rooms  as  well. 

Katy  kept  her  eyes  so  glued  to  Melinda 's  kitchen 
clock  to  watch  the  approach  of  nine  (at  which  hour 
Gideon  was  going  to  lock  the  house)  that  she  lent  a 
very  absent  mind  to  the  animated  talk  between  Me 
linda  and  Lavina,  and  she  took  little  part  in  it  her 
self,  though  she  and  her  cousin,  being  nearly  of  an 
age,  had  always  been  intimate. 

62 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

On  the  way  to  Melinda's,  Lavina  had  maintained 
that  they  must,  in  order  to  establish  Katy's  wifely  in 
dependence,  stay  out  past  the  hour  at  which  Mrs.  Gid 
eon  had  been  commanded  to  return. 

"You  got  to  teach  him,  Katy.  You  can't  begin 
earlier.  And  once  you  're  got  him  taught,  I  don't  be 
lieve  you  '11  have  any  more  trouble  with  him.  Giddy 
Lapp  ain't  a  bad  man,"  she  conceded.  "I  've  seen 
worse." 

"Well,  I  guess!"  loyally  cried  Katy.  "I  guess 
mebbel"  she  emphasized  her  loyalty. 

"But  I  guess  you  see  now,  Katy,  you  did  n't  get  rid 
of  him  by  marrying  him." 

Almost  on  the  stroke  of  nine  there  was  a  loud  knock 
on  Melinda's  kitchen  door  which  startled  them  all 
and  brought  a  little  hysterical  shriek  from  Katy  in 
her  nervous  apprehension  of  retribution. 

"I  wonder  who  's  comin'?"  Melinda  speculated 
as  she  went  across  the  room  to  the  door. 

A  gruff  voice  spoke  to  her  from  out  the  darkness  of 
the  porch. 

"Is  the  folks  ready  fur  goin'  home,  pop  says  to  ast 
yous. ' ' 

Melinda  turned  her  head  and  called  over  her  shoul 
der  to  her  cousins.  "So  sends  mister  his  Jakey  over 
to  fetch  yous ! ' ' 

"You  tell  Jakey  we  're  not  ready  yet,"  promptly 

63 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

and  firmly  answered  Lavina.  "When  we  're  good 
and  ready,  we  '11  come." 

"It  's  nine  o'clock,"  said  Melinda  inhospitably  and 
in  consternation  at  keeping  such  late  hours. 

"That  don't  matter  anything.  We  ain't  going  till 
a  while  yet,"  returned  Lavina,  while  Katy  looked 
rather  wretched. 

"Supposin'  we  get  locked  out  fur  all  night!"  she 
whispered. 

"Then  we  '11  just  come  back  here  and  ask  Melinda 
to  keep  us.  Or  we  can  go  to  the  hotel  and  charge  it 
up  to  Giddy." 

Katy  giggled  hysterically.  To  go  to  the  hotel  and 
charge  it  to  Gideon  would  be  an  audacity  bordering 
on  the  "comic." 

Jakey  went  away,  and  Melinda  returned  to  her 
callers. 

"Won't  your  mister  have  cross  at  you,  Katyt"  she 
inquired.  "Mine,  he  'd  jaw  somepin'  wonderful  if  he 
sent  fur  me  over  and  I  did  n't  come!  I  get  every 
morning  up  at  four  o  'clock,  still,  and  he  'd  say  I  had 
n't  the  dare  to  set  up  so  late  or  I  could  n't  fall  awake 
till  four  o'clock  yet.  He  's  in  bed  now,  and  I  guess 
he  's  fussin'  at  me  not  comin'  too." 

Melinda  looked  sleepy,  but  Lavina  would  not  have 
pity  on  her  and  take  her  hints. 

"I  'd  soon  teach  him  to  leave  me  be  to  do  as  I 

64 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

pleased, ' '  she  affirmed,  putting  in  a  missionary  stroke 
for  Melinda's  benefit.  "Don't  he  do  what  he 
pleases  ? ' ' 

"But  he  's  the  mister." 

"And  you  're  the  missus.  What  's  the  difference?" 

Melinda  shook  her  head.  "Mebbe  them  's  city 
ways,  Laviny,  but  they  would  n't  do  us  country  folks. 
Ain't  not,  Katy?" 

"I  guess  we  're  a  little  dumn,  too,  Melindy,  to  take 
it  off  our  misters  to  use  us  the  way  they  do  still," 
Katy  said. 

"Does  mister  use  you  ugly,  Katy?"  Melinda  in 
quired  in  surprise.  "It  was  always  put  out  that 
Giddy  Lapp  was  good  to  his  first  wife,  fur  all  she 
used  to  say,  still,  he  don't  make  much"  (is  not  dem 
onstrative). 

"He  's  good  to  me,  too,"  Katy  hastened  to  reassure 
her.  "But  he  's  got  the  same  ways  about  him  where 
all  the  men  's  got  around  here  to  their  females.  La 
viny,  she  don't  uphold  to  them  ways." 

"Well,"  Melinda  said  conclusively,  disparaging 
these  revolutionary  ideas,  "you  can't  make  the  men 
over.  It  's  their  natures  to  be  wonderful  mean  that 
way. ' ' 

"Then  it  would  be  my  nature  to  tie  wonderful 
meaner— till  I  got  'em  cured  once, ' '  said  Lavina. 

By  half  past  nine  Lavina  decided  that  discipline 

65 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

had  been  sufficiently  maintained,  and  she  rose  to  take 
Katy  home. 

"I  wonder,"  said  Katy  nervously,  as  they  felt 
their  way  along  the  dark  country  road  toward  the 
other  side  of  the  village,  "if  Giddy  did  take  and 
do  it." 

"You  mean  lock  us  out?" 

"Yes;  mebbe  he  did  n't  fur  all,"  she  said  hope 
fully.  "But,"  she  sighed,  "he  's  a  wonderful  set 
man— Giddy  Lapp.  He  most  always  generally  does 
what  he  says  he  '11  do." 

"Now  look  at  here,  Katy,"  Lavina  prodded  and 
fortified  her,  "if  Gideon  does  leave  us  in  to-night,  I 
want  you  to  pass  me  your  promise  you  won't  speak 
pleasant  first.  Don't  you  leave  on  you  care.  You  hold 
out  this  once,  and  you  '11  have  him  minding  to  his 
own  business  after  this  and  leaving  you  tend  to  yours. 
If  you  stick  up  for  your  independence  and  self-re 
spect,"  Lavina  said  impressively,  "just  once— Giddy 
Lapp  won't  give  you  no  more  trouble.  He  '11  leave 
you  come  and  go  where  you  want.  When  you  go  up 
stairs  to-night— if  he  leaves  us  in — just  you  don't 
speak  to  him  till  he  speaks  first.  Pass  me  your  prom 
ise,  Katy." 

"I  don't  know  if  I  kin  hold  out,  Laviny.  I  sure 
don't  want  to  leave  Giddy  go  to  sleep  without  speak 
ing  me  good-night." 

66 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

"Not  even  for  the  sake  of  having  your  own  way 
ever  after,  Katy?" 

"I  ain't  so  sure  it  will  work  him  that  way." 
f  "Well,  /  am.    I  know  the  male  mind  pretty  good, 
for  all  I  'm  single.     To  be  sure  it  ain't  because  I  ain't 
had  my  chances." 

With  a  little  further  pressing,  Katy  was  induced  to 
"pass  her  promise,"  and  then  Lavina  felt  joyfully 
sure  that  her  mission  in  this  Easter  visit  had  not  been 
in  vain. 

When  they  reached  home,  every  window  in  the  lit 
tle  frame  house  was  dark. 

"Giddy  and  Jakey  's  both  went  to  bed  a 'ready," 
said  Katy,  her  voice  unsteady. 

They  tried  the  kitchen  door  first.     It  was  locked. 

"Leave  us  try  the  front." 

The  front  door,  too,  was  locked,  and  every  shutter 
bolted. 

"He  '11  get  up  and  leave  us  in,"  grimly  declared 
Lavina,  ' '  or  you  're  going  home  with  me  till  he  comes 
after  you." 

She  pounded  on  the  door  and  rattled  the  knob  vio 
lently,  then  standing  out  from  the  step,  she  called  at 
the  top  of  her  lungs,  "Gideon!  Gideon  Lapp!" 

"Now,  Katy,"  Lavina  quickly  instructed  her  sis 
ter,  "when  he  comes,  you  speak  up  and  tell  him  to 
leave  us  in  immejutly!" 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

After  a  moment  a  shutter  was  pushed  open  in  the 
second  story. 

"What  's  wanted?"  growled  the  master  of  the 
house,  leaning  out  in  his  night-shirt. 

"Giddy!  You  come  on  down  and  lock  this  here 
front  door  open ! ' '  called  Katy. 

"Umph!"  Gideon  answered  in  a  deeper  growl,  "I 
don't  have  to!" 

"Yes,  you  do,  Giddy.  Or  either  I  go  to  Upper 
Leacock  with  Laviny  to  stay  till  I  'm  good  and  ready 
to  come  home. ' ' 

"You  have  n't  the  dare!"  snarled  Gideon. 

"I  '11  take  the  dare.    You  better  come  and  open." 

"I  Ve  a  mind  to  make  you  stand  there  all  night- 
fur  the  way  you  're  actin'!"  he  retorted. 

"But  I  won't  stand.  I  '11  walk.  To  the  station  to 
go  along  with  Laviny.  Are  you  comin'  to  make  the 
door  open?" 

"Well,"  Gideon  grumbled,  "wait  a  minute." 

They  had  to  wait  so  long,  while  he  got  into  his  trou 
sers,  that  Lavina  was  tempted  to  suggest  that  they 
give  him  the  surprise  of  finding  them  gone  when  he 
did  come;  but  she  curbed  her  impatience,  deciding 
that,  after  all,  his  reformation  could  be  better  accom 
plished  by  their  remaining. 

Gideon  jerked  the  door  open  and,  not  waiting  for 
them  to  enter,  stalked  away  and  went  up-stairs  again 
without  a  word. 

68 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

"Now  you  mind  your  promise  you  passed  me," 
was  Lavina  's  parting  admonition  to  Katy  as  they  sep 
arated  at  the  latter 's  chamber  door.  "Don't  you 
speak  first." 

"All  right,"  said  Katy.  "But  mebbe  when  you 
ain't  by  me,  I  won't  feel  fur  bein'  so  spunky-like. " 

"But  you  passed  your  promise.  And  a  promise  is 
a  promise." 

"Yes— that  's  so,  too." 

Katy's  heart  was  sore  when  she  joined  her  lord 
in  their  bed-chamber.  She  was  a  peaceable  creature, 
and  this  coldness  between  her  and  Gideon  weighed 
heavily  upon  her  soul. 

Gideon  was  in  bed  with  the  covers  drawn  over  his 
head.  Katy  sank  into  a  chair  beside  the  window  and 
disconsolately  leaned  her  cheek  on  her  hand.  Al 
though  Gideon  did  not  stir,  she  knew  that  he  could 
not  possibly  be  asleep.  Her  heart  beat  heavily  in  her 
bosom.  Were  she  and  Gideon  to  miss  their  customary 
loving  good-night*  The  thought  was  abject  misery. 
Why  had  Lavina  come  here  to  make  this  disturbance 
between  them?  She  could  not  bear  to  have  him 
"cross  at  her."  Rather,  far,  that  he  go  on  treat 
ing  her  with  what  Lavina  called  "disrespect." 
Should  she  break  her  promise  to  Lavina  and  speak 
to  him? 

No— she  could  not  do  that.  As  Lavina  had  truly 
said,  "A  promise  is  a  promise."  And  her  taste  of 

69 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

freedom  and  pleasure,  to-day,  had  whetted  her  appe 
tite  for  more.  Perhaps,  after  all,  Lavina  was  right, 
and  if  she  held  out  to-night  Gideon  would  n't 
"bother"  her  so  much  after  this  and  would  not  op 
pose  her  "going,"  now  and  then. 

Suddenly  she  felt  herself  drawn  into  Gideon's  em 
brace.  He  had  slipped  out  of  bed  and  had  come  up 
behind  her. 

"Katy,  you  little  feist!  I  believe  you  would  leave 
me  go  to  sleep  without  speaking ! ' ' 

He  kissed  her  roughly  and  shook  her  playfully. 
"Will  you  make  up  ?"  he  demanded,  as  she,  in  a  relief 
from  anxiety  that  was  bliss,  clasped  her  arms  about 
his  neck. 

"0  Giddy!     Ain't  you  no  more  spited  at  me?" 

For  answer,  he  again  kissed  her.  "I  know  I  get 
too  quick  cross,"  he  acknowledged;  "but  when  it 
comes  I  can't  help  it  no  more.  I  have  n't  cross  at  you 
now,  Katy." 

And  so  they  rested  in  peace. 

When,  next  morning  at  the  breakfast-table,  Gideon 
invited  Lavina  to  prolong  her  visit,  Lavina  knew  that 
the  object  of  her  coming  to  Katy's  had  been  thor 
oughly  accomplished. 

"But,  Giddy,"  she  said  regretfully,  "I  got  a  re 
turn  ticket,  and  it  calls  for  me  to  go  back  this  after. 
I'  m  wonderful  sorry.  Say,  Giddy,"  she  suddenly 

70 


The  Reforming  of  a  Bridegroom 

declared,  "I  '11  just  stay  over  and  let  that  ticket.  I  'd 
sooner. ' ' 

Gideon  chuckled.  "Won't  that  be  one  on  the 
Pennsylvania  Railroad ! "  he  cried.  ' '  Fur  you  to  have 
bought  your  ticket  fur  going  back  to-day  and  then 
not  go  back  to-day!  Say,  Laviny,  they  '11  be  hot 
when  they  find  you  did  n't  go  back— ain't?  They  're 
such  a  tyrannicky  trust  that  way,  it  '11  just  serve  'em 
right  to  get  good  fooled  oncet ! ' ' 

He  seemed  to  take  such  pleasure  in  contemplating 
the  confusion  of  the  railroad  corporation  when  they 
should  discover  that  Lavina  did  not  turn  up  accord 
ing  to  the  terms  of  her  ticket,  that  she,  in  her  gratifi 
cation  at  the  success  of  her  earnest  efforts  to  reform 
him,  repressed  her  pedagogical  inclination  to  expound 
didactically  to  him  that  her  not  using  the  ticket  would 
be  her  loss  and  not  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad's, — 
which  was  an  act  of  forbearance  on  her  part  to  be 
measured  only  by  the  extent  of  the  reformation  she 
felt  she  had  worked. 


THE  CONVERSION  OF 
ELVINY 


THE  CONVERSION  OF 
ELVINY 


'yi  MAZIAH,  you  dare  read  off  your  composition 
-L\.  now,"  said  Eli  Darmstetter,  addressing  the 
largest  pupil  of  the  class  that  sat  before  him  in  his 
school-room,  one  warm  afternoon  in  April. 

Eli  taught  the  free  school  of  Canaan,  a  small  coun 
try  district  in  southeastern  Pennsylvania,  and  though 
he  was  a  graduate  of  the  "Millersville  Normal,"  he 
had  not  lost  his  native  provincial  tongue,  a  unique 
dialect  grown  out  of  the  free  translation  into  English 
of  what  is  known  as  ' '  Pennsylvania  Dutch. ' '  Neither 
had  he  lost,  in  the  dignity  of  being  the  district 
teacher,  the  familiar  designation  of  "Eli,"  not  only 
because  he  had  all  his  life  lived  in  this  neighborhood, 
but  also  because  most  of  his  pupils'  parents  professed 
the  ascetic  New  Mennonite  faith,  and  the  custom  of 
that  sect  in  addressing  all  men  by  their  Christian 
names  (based  on  the  Scriptural  injunction,  "Call  no 
man  master")  had  tiecome  the  conventionally  polite 
form  of  the  district. 

75 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

Amaziah  cleared  his  throat,  stole  a  hasty  side  glance 
at  Elviny  on  his  right,  and  coloring  deeply  rose  to 
"read  off"  his  composition. 

Amaziah  was  a  stalwart  young  man  of  twenty;  his 
sun-browned  face  and  hands  bore  evidence  that  he 
was  a  son  of  the  soil,  and  his  countenance,  though 
somewhat  heavy,  was  so  open  and  honest,  his  eyes  and 
mouth  so  kindly,  that  the  heart  of  the  comely  Elviny 
warmed  to  him. 

This  youth  of  twenty  and  damsel  of  seventeen  were 
by  no  means  exceptionally  old  pupils  in  the  Canaan 
district  school,  the  short  winter  term  of  six  months 
giving  so  little  opportunity  for  an  education  that 
many  of  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the  district  farm 
ers  availed  themselves  thereof  till  even  a  later  age. 

Amaziah  in  a  loud  though  embarrassed  voice  an 
nounced  his  subject  and  read  his  production. 

THE  USE  OF  THE  STUDY  OP  GEOGRAPHY 

"The  study  of  Geography  which  so  many  people 
delight  in  studying.  Is  studied  in  all  most  all  parts 
of  the  Earth  and  has  been  studied  since  the  beginning 
of  the  "World  already.  Without  Geography  we  could 
not  get  along  just  so  very  well  still,  for  if  we  wanted 
to  go  to  Philadelphia.  We  might  go  to  Harrisburg 
in  a  mistake  not  knowing  what  direction  Philadelphia 

76 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

was  from  us.  When  Columbus  sailed  from  Spain  in 
search  of  the  new  World  He  might  of  went  in  the  op 
posite  direction  if  He  had  not  of  studied  Geography 
before  he  undertook  the  expedition.  Geography  is  off 
great  importance  to  travelers  that  have  to  travel  all 
over  the  World  for  if  they  did  not  know  where  the 
places  they  wanted  to  travel  was  They  might  of  never 
found  the  places  they  wanted  to  travel." 

Amaziah  had  often  said  that  he  would  rather  plow 
for  a  week  than  write  one  composition.  The  above 
had  been  an  especially  strenuous  effort,  made  in  the 
hope  that  Elviny  "would  n't  think  he  was  so  wonder 
ful  dumb,  for  all  he  could  n't  speak  off  pieces  of 
poetry  as  good  as  her." 

He  looked  vastly  relieved  as  he  sat  down;  and  he 
listened  and  watched  with  closest  attention  as  Elviny 
in  her  turn  gracefully  rose,  and,  placing  the  tips  of 
her  fingers  on  her  lips,  coughed  genteelly  before  com 
mencing  to  read : 

SINGLE  LIFE 

' '  Single  life  is  the  happiest  life  that  ever  was  spent 
when  you  are  single  you  can  go  when  you  please  and 
come  when  you  please  and  stay  as  long  as  you  please. 
When  you  are  single  you  have  nothing  on  your  mind 
still  to  bother  you.  Single  life  is  the  sweetest  life 
that  ever  was  spent.  When  you  are  single  you  can  do 

77 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

as  you  please  you  have  nothing  to  bother  your  mind  at 
all." 


Without  so  much  as  glancing  toward  Amaziah  to 
note  the  full  effect  of  these  radical  sentiments,  Elviny 
complacently  resumed  her  seat.  As  for  him,  he  found 
himself  so  painfully  surprised  at  learning  that  such 
were  the  views  of  the  girl  with  whom  he  "kep'  steady 
comp  'ny, ' '  that  he  had  no  attention  to  give  to  the  re 
maining  compositions  of  the  class. 

On  their  way  home  from  school,  in  the  April  after 
noon  sunshine,  he  expostulated  with  her. 

"Elviny,"  he  said  reproachfully,  as  side  by  side 
they  walked  on  the  high,  wide  pike,  "the  way  you 
spoke  in  that  there  composition,  it  was  'something 
shameful!  I  did  n't  think  to  hear  you  read  off  such 
thoughts  as  them. ' ' 

"Oeh,  don't  be  so  dumb,  Amaziah,"  Elviny  said, 
poking  him  impatiently  with  her  elbow.  "A  body 
don't  have  to  mean  everything  that  a  person  writes 
off  in  a  composition.  I  had  to  write  off  somepin'  then, 
and  it  was  so  warm  I  could  n't  think  what  for 
thoughts  to  write.  There  for  a  while  I  had  a  mind  to 
put  down  how  solemn  it  was  to  get  married.  But 
then  it  come  to  me,"  she  said  seriously,  "how  it  would 
b'e  a  good  deal  more  solemn  not  to  get  married.  So 
I  just  wrote  off  them  thoughts  about  single  life,  to  get 
through  once." 

78 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

Amaziah 's  face  lighted  up  with  relief.  "I  'd  have 
thought  you  meant  it,  and  I  was  now  bothered  some 
thing  wonderful  already." 

There  had  been  a  tacit  engagement  of  marriage  be 
tween  these  two  ever  since  four  years  before,  when 
Elviny  was  thirteen  and  Amaziah  sixteen.  It  had 
happened  one  summer  evening  while  they  had  been 
swinging  together  in  a  hammock  by  the  front  gate  of 
Elviny 's  home.  She  had  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
said  to  Amaziah : 

"Say,  will  you  be  mad  if  I  tell  you  somepin',  Ama 
ziah?" 

"N-aw!"  in  a  tone  of  affectionate  scorn  at  the  sug 
gestion.  ' '  Let  it  out ! ' ' 

"Say-Hove  you!" 

"Aw— I  knowed  that  already.  Say!  Will  you  be 
mad  if  I  tell  you  somepin',  Elviny?" 

"No;  go  on;  tell  me  oncet." 

"I  love  you." 

The  understanding  thus  established  had  grown 
clearer  every  day  and  hour  of  the  past  four  years. 

"If  them  books  is  heavy  for  you,  you  'd  better 
leave  me  carry  'em  then,"  Amaziah  rather  bashfully 
proposed,  as  Elviny,  to  relieve  her  right  arm,  trans 
ferred  her  pile  of  school-books  to  the  left.  Amaziah 
always  felt  embarrassed  when  he  tried  to  be  gallant. 

"Well,"  she  conceded,  letting  him  take  them,  "if 
you  want.  It  ain't  particular  to  me." 

79 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

"What  for  book  is  this  here  that  you  're  got  cov 
ered?  Oh,  'rithmetic.  Do  you  know,  Elviny,"  con 
fidentially,  "that  's  the  only  book  I  'm  handy  at? 
All  the  other  books  I  'm  dumb  in." 

" I  'm  different  to  what  you  are, ' '  she  said ;  "I  al 
ways  thought  'rithmetic  was  an  awful  hard  book. 
When  it  ain't  so  warm  I  'd  sooner  write  off  compo 
sitions  than  anything  else  in  school ;  I  'm  most  always 
got  so  many  thoughts  that  way  it  comes  easy  to  me 
still.  But  say,  Amaziah,  ain't  you  glad  school  's  goin' 
to  be  done  next  week  ?  And  me  and  you  '11  never  go 
to  school  no  more.  Och,  but  I  'm  glad ! ' ' 

"Then  we  '11  keep  comp'ny  reg'lar,  ain't?"  Ama 
ziah  affectionately  demanded,  coloring  and  looking 
self-conscious.  "Soon  's  we  're  done  school?  You  '11 
leave  me  set  up  with  you  Saturday  nights  still,  ain't 
you  will,  Elviny?" 

This  privilege  had  not  yet  been  granted  to  Ama 
ziah,  as,  in  the  etiquette  of  Canaan,  it  would  have 
been  irregular  for  him  to  have  "set  up  Saturday 
nights"  with  Elviny  until  both  of  them  had  finished 
their  schooling. 

"Who  else  would  He  settin'  up  with  me  but  you?" 
Elviny  answered,  with  an  embarrassed  little  laugh. 
"Don't  be  so  dumb." 

Amaziah  laughed  too  and  blushed  again,  and  glanc 
ing  behind  him  on  the  pike,  to  make  sure  he  was  un- 

80 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

observed,  he  pressed  his -sweetheart's  hand  as  it  hung 
at  her  side.  She  returned  the  pressure,  then  of  a 
sudden  drew  away  from  him  bashfully,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  they  walked  on  in  a  rather  strained  silence. 

"It  's  warm,  ain't?"  he  presently  hazarded. 

Elviny  started  at  a  something  unusual  in  his  tone ; 
something  which  betrayed  the  fact  that  for  some  rea 
son  he  was  not  at  his  ease  with  her.  She  knew  in  a 
flash  what  had  come  into  his  mind,  and,  instinctively, 
she  tried  to  fight  off  the  dangerous  subject  which  she 
felt  he  was  taking  courage  to  broach. 

"Whether  it  's  warm?"  she  repeated  inquiringly. 
"Yes,  I  believe  it  's  warmer  than  what  it  was  right 
away  this  morning." 

"It  looks  some  for  rain,"  he  remarked. 

"You  think?"  she  said,  a  slight  surprise  in  her 
voice  as  she  examined  the  sky.  "Does  the  noospaper 
call  for  rain?" 

"I  did  n't  see  the  noospaper  this  morning  then, 
but  the  sky  looks  for  showers,  I  'm  afraid.  I  wisht 
it  did  n't,  for  I  got  to  help  pop  through— he  's 
plantin'  in  the  garden  this  evening,  and  if  it  rains 
we  '11  have  to  come  in  and  leave  it  rain — and  then  we 
won't  get  done  already." 

"I  wisht,  too,  it  don't  rain,  so  you  '11  get  done 
once." 

"Yes,  anyhow,"  nodded  Amaziah. 

8l 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

"Ain't  this  a  hilly  road ?" 'Elviny  quickly  asked,  to 
stave  off  the  disagreeable  theme  she  knew  was  impend 
ing.  ' '  It  makes  me  some  tired  to  walk  from  William 
Penn  home." 

' '  William  Penn ' '  was  the  name  of  the  school-house. 

"Yes,"  answered  Amaziah,  "there  's  hills  a-plenty 
all  along  this  here  road.  Why  there  's  hills  on  the 
pike  already  when  you  're  only  at  Noo  Danville.  Say, 
Elviny?" 

He  turned  upon  her  with  decision,  and  she  winced 
as  from  a  lash. 

"There  's  just  only  but  one  thing,  Elviny,  that  I 
wisht— " 

"Now,  Amaziah,  I  know  what  you  're  at— you 
need  n't  say  nothin'  about  that!"  Elviny  tried  to 
check  him.  "I  don't  want  to  hear  to  it!" 

Amaziah  set  his  jaw  obstinately.  "It  's  time  me 
and  you  had  this  here  thing  out  and  done  with  it, ' '  he 
affirmed.  "I  like  you  better  'n  any  girl  in  Canaan 
District,  but  I  ain't  goin'  to  waste  my  time  settin'  up 
Saturday  evenings  with  a  girl  that  's  likely  any  day 
to  give  herself  up  and  put  on  them  darned  Noo  Men- 
nonite  little  white  caps  and  gray  dresses  with  them 
foolish-lookin'  capes!  I  know  them  Noo  Mennon- 
ites!"  he  defiantly  exclaimed,  his  resolution  to  speak 
his  mind  at  its  highest.  Elviny  turned  pale  at  his 
tone  and  look  of  determination.  "Your  folks  is  Noo 

82 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

Mennonites  from  way  back  to  your  great  grandfather 
already,  and  when  it  's  in  a  body's  blood  that  there 
way,  they  're  bound  to  give  themselves  up  sooner  or 
later— unless  they  promise  they  won't  never!  I  'm 
afraid  of  it  for  you,  Elviny. ' ' 

' '  A  body  to  hear  you  talk,  Amaziah,  would  think  it 
was  the  smallpox,  anyhow,  'stid  of  religion ! ' '  Elviny 
almost  sobbed. 

' '  Yes,  and  I  'd  anyhow  as  soon  it  was  the  smallpox ! 
Elviny,  I  'd  as  soon  see  you  dead  as  see  your  pretty 
face  in  one  of  them  darned — ' ' 

11  Amaziah!  I  ain't  goin'  to  listen  to  no  sich  talk! 
You  speak  something  shameful ! ' ' 

"Well,  I  like  you  'cause  you  're  pretty,  and  if  you 
went  and  made  yourself  ugly  by  wearin'  them  caps 
and  capes  and  dull  colors,  and  if  you  went  and  turned 
plain  and  would  n't  never  no  more  go  to  town  with 
me  to  see  a  circus  or  a  county  fair  or  have  our  photo 
graphs  took  or  whatever,  where  'd  be  any  comfort  for 
a  feller  in  bein'  married?  Elviny,  I  tell  you  now, 
straightforward,  I  don 't  want  to  be  married  to  no  Noo 
Mennonite.  And  if  I  ain't  to  marry  you,  I  don't  want 
to  waste  my  time  settin'  up  with  you  Saturdays." 

"Then  you  need  n't!  I  guess  I  can  find  a  plenty 
others  that  wants  to  set  up  with  me." 

Amaziah 's  determined  jaw  slightly  relaxed.  But 
he  held  out.  "And  I  guess  I  can  mebbe  find  others 

83 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

that  wants  me  to  set  up  with  'em,  Elviny,  so  far  forth 
as  that  goes,"  he  retaliated. 

"You  '11  be  keep  in'  comp'ny,  I  guess,  with  Sally 
Haverstick  then!"  crossly  said  Elviny. 

"It  's  very  probably,"  he  relentlessly  acknow 
ledged,  "unless  you  pass  me  your  promise  you  won't 
never,  as  long  as  you  live,  put  on  one  of  them  little 
white  caps  with  ties." 

' '  But,  Amaziah,  how  can  a  body  tell  whether  or  no 
she  '11  ever  come  under  conviction  and  be  led  to  give 
herself  up?"  Elviny  reasoned  with  him.  "I  might 
never,  mebbe.  Then  again,  I  might  any  day.  You 
might  mebbe  some  time  come  under  conviction  your 
self.  A  body  can't  tell  of  them  things.  I  can't 
choose  you  instead  of  Christ,  can  I  ?  I  think  you  are, 
now,  onreasonable. " 

"You  pass  me  your  promise  you  won't  never  put 
on  their  little  white  caps  with  strings— that  's  all  I 
got  to  say.  Anything  you  want  me  to  promise  back 
again,  I  '11  say  yes  to.  If  you  '11  pass  me  that  prom 
ise,  Elviny,  I  '11  marry  you  and  be  the  best  husband 
to  you  that  anybody  kin." 

Elviny  knew  full  well  the  force  of  these  words,  for 
Amaziah  always  meant  just  what  he  said,  and  always 
stuck  to  it.  Moreover,  he  would  be  fully  able  to  carry 
out  his  promise  to  be  a  good  husband  to  her,  for  he 
was  the  only  son  of  a  father  who  owned  three  large 

84 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

rich  farms,  and  was,  therefore,  in  the  language  of 
the  neighborhood,  very  "well  fixed." 

"If  it  were  n't  in  all  your  folks  to  turn  plain,  El 
viny,"  Amaziah  firmly  continued,  "I  'd  never  have 
no  fears  of  such  a  giddy-headed  girl  like  what  you 
are  turnin'  plain,  for  it  's  your  nature  to  be  wonder 
ful  fashionable,  and  you  're  so  much  for  pleasure- 
seekin'  that  way.  But,"  he  continued,  with  stern 
emphasis,  "I  never  knowed  a  son  or  daughter  of  a 
Noo  Mennonite  that  did  n't  some  time  or  'nother  in 
their  life  give  theirselves  up  then.  And  I  ain't  run- 
nin'  no  such  risks.  You  pass  me  your  promise  you  '11 
never  wear  a  white  cap  with  ties,  or  I  '11  go  and  keep 
comp'ny  with  Sally  Haverstick  or  whoever." 

"I  tell  you,  Amaziah,"  Elviny  said  brokenly, 
' '  How  can  a  body  make  such  a  promise  like  what  that 
is?  If  I  ever  came  under  conviction — " 

"Then  join  the  Methodists  or  the  Baptists.  I  pass 
it  as  my  opinion  that  there  's  good  in  all  religions. 
You  can  have  religion  without  turnin'  plain.  The 
Methodists  stays  fashionable  after  they  are  convicted 
of  their  sins. ' ' 

"But  if  I  was  to  ever  come  under  conviction,  Ama 
ziah,  I  could  n't  never  hold  to  the  things  of  the  World 
no  more.  It  would  n't  be  accordin'  to  Scriptures, 
deed  'n'  it  would  n't,"  she  pleaded,  with  quivering 
lips.  "Oh,  Amaziah!" 

85 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

They  had  turned  from  the  pike  into  the  lane  lead 
ing  to  Elviny 's  home,  and  the  girl  suddenly  stopped 
short,  leaned  against  the  fence,  bent  her  arm  over  her 
eyes  like  a  child,  and  sobbed.  Amaziah's  kindly  face 
twitched  with  sympathy  for  her  trouble  as  he  awk 
wardly  stood  before  her. 

"I  guess  you  think  I  'm  usin'  you  mean,  Elviny," 
he  said  tenderly,  but  with  no  relaxation  of  his  firm 
ness.  "But  it  's  for  the  happiness  of  both  of  us  in 
the  coming  future  before  us,  Elviny.  I  could  n't  be 
contented  married  to  no  Noo  Mennonite.  I  could  n't 
like  you  if  you  did  n't  dress  and  act  fashionable  like 
me." 

"But  mebbe  I  '11  never  be  called  to  turn  plain,"  El 
viny  pleaded.  "Mebbe,"  she  said  hopefully,  "the 
Spirit  won't  never  lead  me  to  see  the  light." 

"But  then  again  mebbe  it  will.  I  ain't  takin'  no 
sich  risks.  You  pass  me  your — here  comes  your 
mom. ' ' 

The  sudden  appearance  at  the  fence  of  a  stout 
woman  holding  a  dish-pan  full  of  lettuce  was  the  oc 
casion  of  Amaziah's  sudden  digression.  The  woman 
was  dressed  in  the  "plain"  garb  of  the  New  Mennon- 
ites— a  straight,  gathered  skirt,  an  untrimmed  waist 
extending  below  the  belt  (to  distinguish  them  from 
the  Old  Mennonites,  whose  basques  end  at  the  Helt),  a 
three-cornered  cape  of  the  same  material  as  the  gown, 

86 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

and  a  little  white  cap  with  flying  ties.  At  a  first 
glance,  Mrs.  Dinkleberger's  face  appeared  to  be  com 
monplace  enough,  stolid,  heavy,  uninteresting;  but  a 
closer  examination  revealed  in  her  otherwise  dull  eyes 
a  look  that  only  a  deep  experience  of  life  can  give  to 
any  countenance ;  that  look  which  shows  that  through 
some  channel  the  soul  has  sounded  its  own  nether 
foundations  and  has  laid  hold  upon  a  Reality  which 
only  those  who  lose  themselves  in  the  larger  life  of 
the  Divine  can  ever  find. 

"Well,"  she  said  in  a  mild  voice,  "are  yous  home 
a 'ready?  It  's  only  a  quarter  till  four?" 

"We  come  right  away  out  then,"  said  Elviny, 
speaking  cheerfully  to  hide  the  signs  of  her  weeping. 
"Ain't  we  did,  Amaziah?  Are  you  pickin'  the  let 
tuce  for  market,  mom?" 

"Yes,  I  thought  I  'd  do  it  for  pop;  then  it  would 
be  done." 

"Why  did  n't  you  wait  till  I  come  to  help  you 
through  oncet?  She  does  too  much  still,"  she  added 
explanatorily  to  Amaziah.  "Ever  since  she  had  the 
pee-noo-mony,  it  makes  her  so  tired  'till  she  gets  the 
work  through. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  '11  be  glad  when  Elviny  's  done  school 
oncet,  so  's  she  can  help  me  still.  We  got  such  big 
washin's— 'till  each  has  their  pile,  the  wash  is  big  al 
ready." 

87 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

"That  's  what  mom  says  still,"  said  Amaziah  so 
ciably.  "And  she  ain't  no  daughter  to  help  her — 
only  a  dopplig  (awkward)  hired  girl." 

' '  Is  your  hired  girl  now  a  doppel,  Amaziah  ? ' '  Mrs. 
Dinkleberger  asked  with  interest. 

"Wonderful,"  Amaziah  ruefully  answered.  "Why, 
here  one  day  last  week  she  put  buttermilk  in  pop's 
tea,  and  fast  as  mom  gets  things  redd  up  still,  she  gets 
'em  all  through-other.  Mom  wishes  she  'd  leave  once. 
But  she  won't  send  her  off  'cause  it  gives  you  such  a 
name  with  the  neighbors,  you  know,  that  way,  for  not 
bein'  able  to  keep  your  hired  girl.  So  mom  leaves 
her  stay  right  on,  for  all  it  gives  her  so  much  extry 
work  to  have  her,  and  makes  her  tied  down  so  close. ' ' 

"Don't  she  never  get  away,  still?"  Mrs.  Dinkle 
berger  asked  sympathetically. 

"Oh,  now  and  again  she  gets  to  go  some.  But  she 
never  was  one  of  them  to  go  much  that  way.  But  you 
come  to  see  her  once,  ain't?  Don't  look  on  turns." 

"I  don't  know  but  what  I  will,  for  all  I  don't  go 
much  neither,  since  I  turned  plain— it  's  now  four 
years  back.  And  I  have  to  wait  for  pop  still  to  drive 
the  horse,  'cause  our  horse  he  can't  be  drove  by  no 
women,  he  still  makes  so  ugly  for  me  at  the  railroad 
crossin'.  Why  one  muddy  day  he  made  so  awful  for 
me  when  he  seen  the  cars  that  the  buggy  was  all  over 
dirt." 

88 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

''Now,  think!"  said  Amaziah  in  surprise.  "Well," 
he  added,  "mebbe  some  day  when  I  'm  drivin'  over 
here,  mom  '11  come  along  with  me  over. ' ' 

"Yes,  anyhow,"  answered  Mrs.  Dinkleberger,  hos 
pitably. 

"But  I  don't  know  just  when  it  '11  suit  for  the 
horse,"  Amaziah  said,  glancing  at  Elviny  with  a 
meaning  look,  as  who  should  say,  "It  '11  suit  for  the 
horse  to  haul  me  over  here  when  you  pass  me  that 
promise. ' ' 

Elviny  cast  down  her  eyes  and  looked  unhappy. 
Amaziah 's  face  manifested  no  less  misery,  but  he  re 
mained  firm. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Dinkleberger,  "I  got  to  go  in 
now  and  make  supper.  Won 't  you  come  in,  Amaziah, 
and  set  a  while?" 

"Saddy  (thank  you),  but  I  can't  just  so  very  con 
venient  to-day.  Good-by." 

"Good-by,  Amaziah,  then." 

She  turned  to  go,  but  Elviny  checked  her.  "Wait 
for  me,  mom,  and  I  '11  carry  the  lettuce  in  for  you." 

Hurrying  through  the  gate,  she  held  out  her  hands 
for  the  dish-pan.  She  did  not  want  to  be  left  alone 
with  Amaziah.  She  knew  him  of  old, — he  would  stick 
to  his  point,— and  she  was  afraid  to  trust  herself  with 
him  lest  she  should  yield. 

"You  '11  have  enough  to  do  carryin'  them  school- 

89 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

books  Amaziah  's  holdin'  for  you,"  said  her  mother. 
"Take  'em  from  him  and  come  along  then  in.  You 
can  make  the  fried  potatoes  for  me  for  supper. ' ' 

Without  looking  at  her  lover,  Elviny  took  the  books 
from  his  hands  over  the  fence. 

"Promise,  Elviny,"  he  whispered,  as  he  gave  them 
to  her.  "Go  on,  dear!  That  you  won't  never  wear 
one  of  them — " 

Elviny  shook  her  head,  the  tears  rising  again  to  her 
eyes. 

"You  think  it  out  and  write  me  off  a  note  then," 
was  his  parting  admonition.  And  Elviny  left  him 

and  hastened  after  her  mother. 

* 

ELVINY  had  known  from  the  first  that  when  Ama 
ziah  took  that  tone  of  firmness  with  her,  she  would, 
in  the  end,  do  what  he  demanded  of  her.  So  she  was 
not  surprised  at  herself  when  that  night,  sorely 
against  her  conscience,  she  despatched  a  note  to  him, 
giving  the  promise  that  he  had  required,  namely,  that 
she  would  "never  wear  one  of  them  little  white 
caps  with  ties,"  this  particular  feature  of  the  Men- 
nonite  garb  evidently  standing  to  him  for  a  symbol 
of  all  the  asceticism  and  narrowness  of  the  New  Men- 
nonites*  life. 

But  Amaziah 's  joy  in  his  conquest  was  short-lived. 
When  two  evenings  later,  being  Sunday,  he  betook 

90 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

himself,  clad  in  the  "fashionable"  apparel  his  soul 
loved,  to  the  home  of  his  sweetheart,  he  found  her  so 
pale,  so  silent,  so  woebegone,  that  he  was  stricken  with 
remorse  and  sorrow  for  her.  They  did  not  discuss,  or 
even  mention,  the  painful  subject  of  the  promise ;  but 
Amaziah  felt  convinced,  after  a  two  hours'  fruitless 
endeavor  to  make  her  "act  sociable  and  pleasant," 
that  poor  Elviny  would  never  be  "contented"  again 
with  such  a  load  of  sin  on  her  conscience  as  that 
promise  seemed  to  be. 

"It  's  most  nearly  as  worse  as  if  she  'd  turned 
plain,"  he  thought,  in  great  trouble  of  mind,  as  he 
wended  his  way  homeward  in  the  moonlight. 
"What  's  a  body  to  do?" 

He  realized,  as  time  went  on,  how  great  a  proof  of 

) 

her  love  she  had  given  him,  and  this  increased  ten 
fold  his  already  strong  devotion  to  her.  But  as  week 
after  week  he  saw  her,  under  the  effect  of  her  burden 
of  guilt,  grow  thinner  and  paler  and  sadder,  his  own 
conscience  began  to  trouble  him. 

"She  thinks  she  's  choosed  me  before  Christ,"  he 
mused.  "And  it  's  near  makin'  her  sick!  Poor 
thing,  she  won't  never  be  contented  no  more,  I  'm 
afraid,  'till  she  's  took  back  her  word  to  me. ' ' 

Tugging  at  his  own  heartstrings  was  the  longing  to 
release  her  from  her  promise— just  for  the  joy  of 
seeing  her  look  happy  once  more.  But  he  could  not 

91 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

bring  himself  to  that  point  of  self-sacrifice.  Her  re 
lief  would  be  so  great  that  she  might  be  led,  in  her 
thankfulness  to  the  Lord,  to  give  herself  up  at  once. 
And  then  where  would  he  be  ?  No ;  he  must  hold  out 
in  his  determination  to  make  her  forswear  the  faith  of 
her  fathers.  In  time,  perhaps,  she  would  get  used  to 
it  and  cease  to  fret.  He  would  wait. 

"But  I  wisht  I  could  see  her  lookin'  contented  once 
again,"  he  said  to  himself  one  Saturday  evening,  as, 
with  little  pleasure  in  his  visit,  he  walked  up  the  lane 
to  her  home.  "Blamed  if  I  would  n't  most  be  willin' 
to  do  anything  to  see  her  lookin'  contented  again." 

He  was  destined  to  have  this  generous  wish  of  his 
put  to  the  test  sooner  than  he  had  counted  on.  When, 
ten  minutes  later,  Elviny  walked  into  her  parlor  to 
receive  him,  he  knew,  in  a  flash  such  as  seldom  came 
to  his  monotonous,  slow-moving  mental  life,  that  never 
had  he  seen  her  more  beautiful  than  she  appeared  to 
his  eyes  this  night.  She  was  robed  as  she  had  never 
been  before.  A  light  gray  skirt  hung  straight  from 
her  waist,  and  a  plain,  untrimmed,  close-fitting  basque 
brought  out  the  beauty  of  her  form  and  was  not  con 
cealed  by  the  little  three-cornered  cape  that  lay  over 
the  basque. 

The  letter  of  her  promise  to  Amaziah  had  been  that 
she  would  "never  wear  one  of  them  white  caps  with 
ties"— but,  oh,  the  subtlety  of  the  daughters  of  Eve 

92 


Poor  Elviny  would  never  be  contented  again, 
with  such  a  load  of  sin.  on  her  conscience" 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

and  the  fatuity  of  the  sons  of  Adam ! — an  Indian  mull 
cap,  not  white,  but  of  the  faintest  shade  of  gray  and 
having  no  ties,  covered  her  head. 

However,  her  "plain"  clothes  were  not  the  great 
est  change  he  found  in  her.  What  was  this  new  light 
in  her  eyes  that  looked  up  at  him  with  such  deep  hap 
piness  shining  in  their  clear  beauty?  A  feeling  of 
awe  fell  upon  Amaziah.  Had  Elviny  indeed  got  re 
ligion? 

"You  see,  Amaziah,"  he  heard  her  soft  voice  speak 
as  though  coming  from  a  distance,  for  there  was  a 
loud  singing  in  his  head  that  kept  him  from  hearing 
her  clearly,  "I  'm  keepin'  my  promise.  I  ain't 
wearin'  one  of  them  little  white  caps  with  ties.  This 
here  's  a  tinted  gray  cap  and  ain't  got  no  ties.  The 
Scriptures  have  n't  got  nothin'  about  the  color  nor 
the  ties,  only  that  a  woman's  head  shall  be  covered 
because  her  hair  's  a  pride  to  her  and  pleasing  to  the 
eye." 

"Are  you  turned  plain,  Elviny?"  Amaziah  man 
aged  to  ask  in  a  half  whisper. 

"  I  've  give  myself  up,  Amaziah, ' '  she  replied  with 
pale-faced,  clear-eyed  resolution.  "I  ain't  broke  my 
promise  to  you,  and  never  will.  I  '11  always  wear 
these  here  tinted  caps  without  ties  to  'em.  Now  you 
have  the  dare  to  take  me,  or  leave  me  be. ' ' 

"Are  you  contented  again,  Elviny?" 

95 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

"I  never  knowed  before  what  happiness  it  was  to 
be  had  in  this  here  life.  It  *s  all  in  servin'  the  Lord, 
Amaziah.  I  had  such  a  troubled  conscience— it  was 
now  a  wonderful  troubled  conscience  I  had  this  here 
while  back  already.  And  my  fashionable  clothes  they 
condemned  me  something  turrible.  But  it  's  all  over 
now,  Amaziah.  I  've  give  myself  up  and  I  'm 
dressin'  plain,  and  I  '11  never  walk  no  more  in  the 
paths  of  this  World." 

Thus  had  Elviny  followed  out  the  invincible  law 
of  her  being;  for  the  offspring  of  New  Mennonite 
stock  inherit,  from  an  ancestry  whose  loyalty  to  con 
viction  made  them  victims  of  the  persecutions  of  the 
Thirty  Years '  War,  a  persistency  in  ' '  reverting  to  the 
original  type"  that  is  in  their  very  life  blood,  and 
needs  only  some  stress  of  circumstances  to  bring  it  out 
in  force. 

"Turn  your  back  around  behind  you  and  leave  me 
see  how  the  plain  dress  becomes  you,"  was  Amaziah 's 
stolid  comment  upon  Elviny 's  sublime  renunciation. 

Elviny  slowly  revolved  herself  for  inspection. 
When  her  back  was  toward  him,  Amaziah  measured 
her  shapely  form  with  his  masculine  eye,  then  sud 
denly  put  his  arms  about  her  and  held  her  close  to  his 
breast. 

"It  becomes  you  something  surprising,  Elviny!" 
he  whispered  ecstatically.  "You  never  looked  as 

96 


The  Conversion  of  Elviny 

pretty  before.  And  I  never  liked  you  as  good  as 
what  I  do  to-night!" 

She  turned  in  his  arms  and  laid  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  with  a  long,  happy  sigh  of  relief.  He 
pressed  his  lips  to  her  soft  neck  and  downy  cheek. 

"But  we  '11  have  to  be  married  soon,  Amaziah— be 
fore  I  join  meeting,  you  know.  For  after  I  'm  once 
joined,  I  can't  marry  in  the  World,  no  more.  And 
you  're  in  the  World,  you  know.  So  we  '11  have  to  be 
married  soon. ' ' 

"All  right,  Elviny,"  Amaziah  heartily  responded. 
"I  '11  make  it  suit  just  as  soon  as  I  otherwise  can! 
We  '11  be  married  till  the  back  end  of  August  al 
ready!" 


97 


ELLIE'S  FURNISHING 


ELLIE'S   FURNISHING 


THE  school-teacher,  Eli  Darmstetter,  had  "com 
posed"  the  form  of  invitation  to  be  sent  to  those 
friends  and  relatives  who  lived  too  far  away  to  be  in 
vited  by  word  of  mouth. 

"Canaan,  Lancaster  Co.,  Pa. 
"May  10,  1895. 
"DEAR  FRIEND: 

"Inclosed  please  find  an  invitation  to  our  Daugh 
ter  Ellie  Furnishing  Party,  it  was  to  take  place  on 
May  5,  1895.     But  oweing  to  Some  of  her  Prominent 
Friends  being  away  and  Some  had  former  engage 
ments,  We  Concluded  to  postpone  the  affair  until  the 
10th  inst.     So  I  hope  it  will  be  Convenient  for  you 
and  your  Esteemable  Wife  to  confer  us  a  favor  and 
pleasure  by  being  present  at  that  Evening. 
"With  Regards  and  Respects, 
"I  Remain, 

"Truly  yours, 

"DANIEL  SEIDENSTICKER. " 

101 


Ellie's  Furnishing 

Mr.  Seidensticker  had  this  form,  with  some  varia 
tions  to  suit  individual  cases,  copied  and  sent  far  and 
wide  to  all  his  friends,  acquaintance,  kith  and  kin; 
and  the  replies  that  they  brought  during  the  several 
weeks  following  afforded  high  entertainment,  not  to 
say  mad  dissipation,  to  the  Seidenstickers.  Indeed, 
so  broken  up  was  the  dull  monotony  of  their  lives  by 
the  unaccustomed  daily  arrival  of  the  mail,  and  by 
preparations  for  the  furnishing  party  and  expedi 
tions  to  town  to  buy  the  furniture  for  Ellie's  parlor, 
that  the  nerve  and  brain  of  the  family  were  strained 
to  a  severe  tension  in  sustaining  all  this  unwonted 
mental  and  physical  activity. 

"This  here  'n  is  from  Bucks  County,"  Mrs.  Seiden 
sticker  one  evening  announced  to  her  assembled  fam 
ily  as  she  opened  a  letter  which  Jakey,  her  nine-year- 
old  son,  had  just  brought  from  the  post-office  at  Ca 
naan.  It  was  a  mild  evening  in  early  May,  and  they 
were  all  gathered  on  the  kitchen  porch  to  enjoy  the 
budget  of  mail  which,  since  the  sending  forth  of  the 
invitations,  had  come  to  be  the  most  important  fea 
ture  of  their  day;  Ellie,  the  grown-up  daughter;  Si 
las,  her  elder  brother,  who  shared  his  father's  labors 
on  their  large  farm;  Jakey,  the  little  brother;  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Seidensticker. 

Mrs.  Seidensticker,  a  large,  stout  woman  a  little 
past  middle  age,  wore  the  New  Mennonite  plain  dress 
and  white  cap,  but  her  fat,  dull  countenance  did  not 

1O2 


Ellie' s  Furnishing 


bear  that  stamp  of  other  worldliness  so  characteristic 
of  many  New  Mennonites.  Her  pretty,  dainty 
daughter  Ellie,  who  was  dressed  "fashionable,"  had 
— much  more  than  her  mother— the  pensive,  nun-like 
face  so  often  seen  behind  the  black  sunbonnets  of  the 
wives  of  Lancaster  County  farmers. 

Mr.  Seidensticker,  a  hard-working  Pennsylvania 
Dutch  farmer,  did  not  wear  the  Mennonite  garb.  He 
had  never  "turned  plain"  and  "given  himself  up," 
and  he  still  "remained  in  the  world." 

"It  's  from  Cousin  Elipholat,"  Mrs.  Seidensticker 
continued.  "Ellie,  you  read  ,it  oncet,"  she  added, 
leaning  forward  in  her  chair  and  passing  the  letter  to 
her  daughter,  who  sat  near  her  on  the  porch.  "You 
're  handier  at  readin'  writin'  than  what  I  am  still." 

"Leave  Si  read  it,"  Ellie  indifferently  returned. 

Her  mother  looked  at  her  inquiringly.  "What  's 
the  matter  of  you,  Ellie?  Ain't  you  mebbe  feelin' 
just  so  good,  or  what  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  I  'm  feelin'  just  so  middlin';  I  don't  want  for 
to  read.  Leave  Si." 

Mrs.  Seidensticker  had  been  vaguely  conscious,  in 
the  past  few  days,  of  the  fact  that  something  was 
troubling  Ellie.  The  girl  was  not  like  herself;  ever 
since  she  and  Sam  Shunk,  her  "gentleman  friend," 
had  gone  to  town  together  to  buy  the  furniture  for  the 
parlor  in  which  Ellie  was  to  "set  up  Sa'urdays  and 
keep  company"  with  him,  she  had  been  pale  and  list- 

7  103 


Ellie's  Furnishing 


less,  and  at  times  she  wore  a  look  of  suffering  that 
troubled  the  mother  deeply.  Could  something  have 
gone  wrong  between  Ellie  and  Sam?  Mrs.  Seiden- 
sticker's  questionings  had  brought  no  confidences  from 
Ellie.  What  a  mortification  it  would  be  if,  when  all 
the  preparations  were  made  for  the  "furnishing" 
party,  at  which  the  engagement  of  Ellie  and  Sam  was 
to  be  "put  out,"  it  should  transpire  that  "one  of  'em 
was  n't  satisfied  with  the  other!" 

Mrs.  Seidensticker  was  greatly  troubled. 

"Then,  Si,  you  read  it,"  she  said  with  a  sigh,  giv 
ing  the  letter  to  her  grown  son,  who  sat  on  the  porch 
step  at  her  feet. 

Silas,  bending  to  the  task  allotted  to  him,  strenu 
ously  grasped  the  sheet  with  both  his  hands. 

"Dear  cousins  my  Pop  he  can't  come,  Because  he 
ain't  no  more  alive.  He  died.  He  was  layin'  for  22 
weeks.  It  's  five  years  back  already  that  he  died  for 
me  I  'm  sorry  he  can't  come.  But  he  's  dead.  I 
would  come  but  I  'm  turned  plain  and  wear  the  garb 
now  and  so  parties  and  such  things  like  them  don't  do 
me  no  good,  and  I  'd  best  not  addict  to  them  things. 
Pop  he  would  of  like  to  come.  But  he  is  dead  this 
five  years  now. 

"Your  Well  Wisher, 

"ELIPHOLAT  HINNERSHIZ." 

1O4 


Ellie's  Furnishing 

"Now  think!"  said  Mrs.  Seidensticker,  with  a  long 
sigh.  ' '  I  did  n  't  never  hear  that  Cousin  Jake  passed 
away.  He  was  a  good  man,"  she  said  mournfully. 
' '  If  yous  could  see  him  right  now  here  on  this  porch, 
you  'd  know  he  was  one  of  the  finest  men  settin ' !  He 
was  just  comin'  forty  years  old  when  I  seen  him  last: 
that  was  mebbe  fifteen  years  back  already.  I  ain't 
sure  it  was  just  to  say  fifteen — but  we  won't  stop  at 
fifteen,  but  we  '11  give  it  that  anyhow.  Do  you  mind 
of  him,  pop?"  she  asked  her  husband. 

Mr.  Seidensticker  drew  his  long,  thin  length  up 
from  the  pump-bed  and  leaned  against  a  pillar  of  the 
porch. 

"Ach,  yes,  I  mind  of  him.  He  had  sich  a  long 
beard  that  way.  He  was  very  proud  of  hisseff  with 
his  beard,  mom. ' ' 

"Yes,"  she  said,  thoughtfully  reminiscent;  "he 
was  the  high-feelingest  man!  You  see,"  she  ex 
plained  to  her  children,  "he  married  sich  a  tony  wife ! 
She  was  wonderful  tony.  Her  pop  was  a  head-waiter 
in  a  hotel,  and  she  was  oh,  a  way-up  woman.  If  she 
got  mad,  I  want  you  to  notice  if  the  sparks  did  n't 
fly!" 

"And  do  you  mind,  mom,"  said  Ellie's  soft  voice, 
"how  oncet  when  you  took  me  to  Bucks  County  to  see 
her  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  she  used  to  use  napkins  on 
the  table  for  every-day  still?" 

105 


Ellie's  Furnishing 


"Yes,"  nodded  her  mother.  "She  sayed  she  was 
raised  that  way.  But  people's  ways  is  different  in 
Bucks  County  to  what  they  are  here.  I  've  took  no 
tice  of  that  whenever  I  traveled  to  Bucks  County. 
Yes,  the  world  changes  a  heap  in  thirty  or  forty  miles 
already.  She  was  so  much  for  makin'  the  windows 
open  in  summer-time.  I  ain't.  We  ain't  raised  to 
that  in  Lancaster  County.  It  draws  flies.  And  she 
did  n't  raise  her  babies  like  what  I  did.  She  said  I 
was  too  much  for  keepin'  'em  covered  up  and  hot. 
She  was  n't  for  that.  She  did,  now,  have  queer  ways 
to  herself.  She  did  n't  have  no  children  but  only 
Elipholat  and  another  one  that  was  born  dead.  She 
did  n't  want  no  more,  she  sayed,  still;  she  was  n't 
no  friend  to  children.  But  I  tole  her  when  you  're 
married,  you  ain't  ast  do  you  favor  children  or 
no?" 

"Who  's  the  other  letter  from,  mom?"  asked  Jakey 
from  his  perch  on  the  porch  railing.  "I  brung  two 
and  a  postal  card.  When  John  Doer  give  me  our 
mail,  he  sayed  he  could  n't  make  out  the  writin'  on 
that  there  postal  card,  only  he  could  see  it  was  from 
Ebenezer  Duttonhoff er. " 

"Oh,  him,"  nodded  Mrs.  Seidensticker.  "Here, 
Si,  read  it  oncet." 

The  early  shades  of  the  May  evening  were  gather 
ing  and  Silas  was  obliged  to  hold  the  postal  card  close 

1O6 


Ellie's  Furnishing 

to  his  eyes  in  order  to  decipher  its  faintly-penciled 
message. 

"FRIEND  MARY: 

"Pete  he  has  fallin'  fits  now  and  he  's  often  took 
worse,  so  it  don't  suit  just  so  very  convenynt  and  the 
horse  he  has  bots  and  this  after  the  mare  she  got  pink 
eye  for  me  but  if  the  weather  ain't  inclement  and  we 
can  make  it  so  it  suits  yet  for  one  of  the  horses  we  will 
come  then  if  Sally's  foot  gets  better  she  's  got  it  so 
bad  in  her  foot. 

"Respectfullie 

"EBENEZER  DUTTONHOFFER." 

"Ach,"  said  Mr.  Seidensticker ;  "them  Duttonhof- 
fers  was  always  a  ridic'lous  fambly  for  havin'  things 
happen  of  'em.  They  '11  all  be  here,  you  mind  if  they 
ain't!  Pete  with  his  fallin'  fits  and  Sally  with  her 
leg  or  foot  or  whatever— and  every  one  of  'em. 
They  're  always  close  by  when  they  know  a  body  's 
goin'  to  have  entertainment.  And  when  you  go  to 
their  place  they  're  just  that  near  they  never  ast  you 
to  eat.  Ach,  mebbe  they  '11  ast  you  to  pick  a  piece — 
but  they  ain't  givin'  you  no  square  meal." 

"Here  's  one  from  Cocalico,"  said  Mrs.  Seiden 
sticker.  "That  must  be  from  Sister  Lizzie  Miller. 
Here,  Si." 

1O7 


Ellie's  Furnishing 

"You  'd  better,  make  the  lamp  lit  then.  I  can't 
hardly  see  no  more,"  said  Silas. 

' '  There  's  just  only  this  one  any  more ;  I  guess  you 
can  make  out  to  read  that." 

"Gimme  here,  then." 

Silas  changed  his  position  a  bit  and  strained  his 
eyes  to  read. 

"SISTER  MARY: 

"I  wish  you  the  grace  and  Piece  of  the  Lord. 
Mamie  got  Daniel 's  Invitation  all  right  she  was  snitz- 
ing  the  apples  and  cut  herself  so  ugly  in  the  thumb 
I  'm  writing  for  her  I  'd  leave  her  come  if  I  otherwise 
could  but  I  don't  know  what  to  wear  on  her.  I  'd 
sooner  she  'd  go  as  stay,  for  all  we  're  getting  stran 
gers  Thursdays  and  we  've  made  out  to  clean  the 
kitchen  to-morrow,  so  I  don't  know  how  long  it  will 
go  before  I  can  get  time  to  make  her  a  new  dress  al 
ready.  It  would  be  wishful  for  her  to  have  a  new 
dress  her  other  one  where  she  bought  off  of  Haver- 
bushes  is  wore  out  yet. 

"SISTER  LIZZIE." 

"Sister  Lizzie  's  a  wonderful  hard-workin' 
woman,"  remarked  Mrs.  Seidensticker.  "And  now 
her  children  's  all  growed  up  over  her,  she  works  as 
hard  as  ever  she  did  still.  And  her  man,  he  always 
used  her  so  mean  that  way. ' ' 

108 


Ellie's  Furnishing 

"Does  he  farm  yet?"  inquired  Mr.  Seidensticker, 
who,  having  washed  his  hands  at  the  pump  close  by 
the  porch,  while  listening  to  the  letters,  was  now  dry 
ing  them  on  one  of  the  roller-towels  which  hung  on 
the  brick  wall  of  the  house. 

The  Seidensticker  towel-system  was  unique.  Two 
towels  always  hung  on  the  side  of  the  house,  one  of 
them  doing  its  second  week  of  service  for  the  entire 
family,  the  other  its  first— the  former  being  used  ex 
clusively  for  hands,  and  the  fresher  one  for  faces. 
The  pump,  the  two  roller-towels,  and  one  ' '  wash-rag ' ' 
hanging  over  the  top  of  the  pump  (and  known  in  the 
family  as  the  wash-rag)  constituted  the  only  toilet  ap 
pointments  of  the  household. 

"Whether  Sister  Lizzie's  man  farms?"  inquiringly 
repeated  Mrs.  Seidensticker.  "No,  he  don't  carry  on 
nothin'  now.  He  's  such  a  wonderful  man  for  snitz 
pie.  I  guess  that  's  why  they  're  snitzing  so  early. 
Their  winter  snits  mebbe  give  out  for  'em.  Yes,  Liz 
zie 's  man  was  always  a  friend  to  pie.  And  he  always 
sayed  to  Lizzie,  'Put  rigKt  much  sugar  on  it.'  Lizzie 
thought  that  's  what  made  his  teeth  go  so  fast,  so  's 
he  had  to  get  his  store  ones  already.  He  's  got  his 
store  teeth  better  'n  thirty  years  now." 

The  sound,  at  this  minute,  of  wheels  in  the  distance, 
on  the  road  which  passed  their  gate,  suddenly  set  the 
whole  family  on  the  qui  vive  of  expectation.  Jakey 
leaped  like  a  squirrel  from  the  porch  railing  and  ran 

1O9 


Ellie's  Furnishing 


to  the  front  fence.  Mr.  Seidensticker  dropped  the 
family  hand-towel  and  craned  his  long  thin  neck 
around  the  pump ;  Silas,  Ellie,  and  Mrs.  Seidensticker 
leaned  forward  expectantly. 

Not  that  they  were  dreading  or  pleasantly  antici 
pating  (as  might  have  appeared)  either  a  foe  or  a 
friend  in  the  approaching  vehicle;  but  in  the  dull 
monotony  of  their  lives  the  passing  of  a  wagon  was 
an  episode  of  exciting  interest.  For  a  wagon  to  pass 
a  Lancaster  County  farm-house,  and  the  inmates 
thereof  to  miss  seeing  whose  wagon  it  was,  was  a  mis 
hap  to  be  lamented  for  days  to  come. 

"It  's  John  Herr's!"  Jakey  called,  as  soon  as  the 
horse  was  near  enough  for  him  to  recognize  it. 

"Oh,  him!"  Mrs.  Seidensticker  said,  in  a  tone  of 
satisfied  curiosity.  ' '  I  guess  he  's  been  in  to  Canaan 
for  his  mail,  mebbe. ' ' 

When  John  Herr's  buggy  had  passed  and  disap 
peared,  Jakey  came  back  to  the  porch. 

"Did  you  fetch  the  mail  for  Abe's  this  evening?" 
Mrs.  Seidensticker  inquired  of  the  child. 

"Abe's"  was  their  designation  for  the  household,  a 
half  mile  distant,  belonging  to  the  young  married 
sister  of  Mrs.  Seidensticker,  who  had  wedded  a 
farmer  named  Abe  Kuhns. 

"Whether  I  fetched  the  mail  for  Abe's?"  re 
peated  Jakey.  "Yes,  I  fetched  it  down  to  'em  then." 

11O 


Ellie's  Furnishing 

"What  did  they  get?" 

"Nothin'  but  the  'Weekly  Intelligencer,'  "  Jakey 
replied,  taking  a  handful  of  dried  apples  out  of  a  pan 
on  the  porch  bench  and  beginning  to  eat  them. 

"You  're  to  leave  them  snits  be  now,"  admonished 
his  mother. 

"I  did  n't  eat  very  hearty  at  supper,"  argued 
Jakey.  "I  had  to  hurry  to  get  done  once,  to  go  for 
the  mail  already,  and  I  had  only  butter-bread  and 
coffee  soup." 

"Well,  if  you  feel  for  some  more  supper,  go  to  the 
cupboard  and  get  a  piece.  Don't  eat  them  snits. 
They  're  unhealthy  when  they  ain't  cooked." 

"I  like  'em  better  'n  a  piece,"  protested  Jakey, 
though  he  obediently  put  them  back  into  the  pan ;  the 
children  of  the  Pennsylvania  Dutch  are  reared  in  old- 
fashioned  implicit  obedience  to  parental  authority. 

'But  you  would  n't  like  the  stomeek  ache  you  'd 
mebbe  get  if  you  eat  'em,"  said  his  father.  "A  body 
must  be  a  little  forethoughted  that  way  about  what 
they  eat  still. ' ' 

Mrs.  Seidensticker's  stout  figure  rose  heavily  from 
her  rocking-chair. 

"I  'd  mebbe  better  come  in  now.  You  just  stay 
settin',"  she  added  to  Ellie.  "You  seem  like  as  if 
you  was  a  little  tired.  You  're  so  quiet  this  evening. 
Ain't  you  mebbe  feelin'  good,  Ellie?" 

Ill 


Ellie's  Furnishing 


"Oh,  I  'm  feelin'  just  so  middlin',"  Ellie  again 
softly  answered. 

"Is  Sam  comin'  to-night?" 

Ellie  rose  from  her  straight-backed  seat  and  took 
her  mother's  low  rocking-chair.  "He  did  n't  speak 
nothin'  about  when  he  'd  come  over  again,"  she  an 
swered. 

"Well,  I  'm  goin'  to  bed,"  her  mother  announced 
with  a  yawn  as  she  walked  to  the  kitchen  door.  "Are 
you  comin',  pop?" 

"I  might  as  well,  I  guess." 

Silas  and  Jakey,  without  comment,  followed  their 
parents  indoors  and  left  Ellie  alone  on  the  porch.  It 
was  generally  understood  that  the  coast  must  be  clear 
for  a  possible  visit  from  Sam. 

Sam  Shunk  had  been  Ellie  Seidensticker's  ';' steady 
regular  gentleman  friend,"  not  only  for  the  past  four 
months,  since  her  eighteenth  birthday,  but  he  had 
"kept  steady  comp'ny"  with  her  even  before  either 
he  or  she  had  reached  the  age  or  the  worldly  condi 
tion  when  "settin'  up  Sa'urdays"  was,  according  to 
the  social  rubrics  of  Canaan  Township,  the  proper 
and  conventional  procedure.  Time  had,  therefore, 
established  his  prerogative  to  the  soubriquet  of 
"Friend"  with  a  capital  F  and  an  especial  signifi 
cance. 

Left  alone  on  the  porch  in  the  gathering  spring 

112 


Ellie's  Furnishing 


twilight,  Ellie's  pretty  head  drooped  upon  her  breast, 
and  a  long,  tired  sigh  swelled  her  young  bosom.  Pres 
ently  two  big  tears  trickled  over  her  pale  cheeks  and 
a  little  gasping  sigh  came  from  her  throat.  The 
measure  of  her  Spartan  self-control  in  the  presence  of 
her  family  was  the  exceeding  trouble  and  distress 
manifest  just  now  in  every  line  of  her  relaxed  form 
and  delicate  face. 

The  secret  grief  that  was  rending  her  was  the  real 
ization  that  she  must  give  up  Sam.  In  anguish  of 
spirit  she  asked  herself  how  she  could  ever  bring  her 
self  to  do  it.  For  oh,  she  loved  him!  He  was  so 
kind,  so  strong,  so  handsome!  In  all  the  town 
ship,  where  was  his  peer?  Her  soul  was  knit  to 
his  and  she  did  not,  she  did  not,  want  to  give 
him  up ! 

But  she  must.  Sam  belonged  to  the  World.  And 
she— she  was  about  to  give  herself  to  the  service  of 
her  Lord  and  Master,  who  forbade  that  His  children 
be  unequally  yoked  together  with  unbelievers. 

It  was  the  "furnishing"  that  had  brought  Ellie  to 
this  state  of  self-abnegation.  Her  mother,  as  has  been 
said,  was  a  New  Mennonite.  The  creed  of  this  sect, 
forbidding  not  only  gay  apparel,  but  also  any  but  the 
plainest  and  simplest  of  household  furnishings,  the 
custom  has  grown  up  among  its  members  of  leaving 
the  "front  room"  of  their  homes  unfurnished  until 


Ellie's  Furnishing 


the  eldest  daughter  shall  have  come  of  age,  when,  if 
by  that  time  she  has  not  been  moved  by  the  spirit  to 
' '  give  herself  up, ' '  that  is,  to  abandon  the  vain  pomps 
and  glories  of  this  wicked  world,  "turn  plain"  and 
join  the  New  Mennonites,  her  parents  give  vent  to 
their  long  repressed  human  instincts  for  adornment 
and  fit  up  the  parlor  for  her  in  the  best  style  they  can 
afford. 

New  Mennonites  never  force  their  own  convictions 
upon  their  children,  for  since  it  is  the  Spirit  only, 
and  not  any  human  agent,  which  can  teach  men  the 
way  of  salvation,  and  as  the  "mere  morality"  of  the 
unconverted  can  never  be  counted  unto  a  man  for 
righteousness,  either  he  must,  of  his  own  free  will  and 
accord  and  without  outside  influence,  give  himself  ab 
solutely  and  entirely  to  the  Lord's  service,  or  else  be 
a  child  of  "the  enemy"  outright.  There  is  no  me 
dium  course.  It  is  thus  that  the  New  Mennonites  ex 
plain  this  seeming  inconsistency  of  freely  allowing  to 
their  children  the  "vanities"  which  they  themselves 
eschew  as  sinful. 

The  event  regularly  known  in  Lancaster  County  as 
"furnishing"  is,  next  to  marriage,  the  most  auspi 
cious  time  in  a  young  girl's  life.  As  soon  as  her  par 
ents  have  "furnished"  for  her,  she  is  expected  to  en 
ter  upon  her  matrimonial  campaign  and,  anon,  settle 
down  to  "keep  comp'ny"  with  one  especial 

114 


Ellie's  Furnishing 


''Friend,"  whom,  as  soon  as  convenient,  she  marries, 
and  then  the  furniture  of  her  parlor  is  taken  with  her 
into  her  own  new  home. 

Now  Ellie  had  always  anticipated  with  delight  the 
time  of  her  ' '  furnishing, ' '  and  when  it  had  at  last  ar 
rived,  she  threw  herself,  heart  and  soul,  into  the  joy 
of  choosing  her  "things" — the  cabinet  organ,  the 
"stuffed"  sofa  and  chairs,  the  marble-topped  table, 
plush  album,  gilt-framed  "Snow  Scene,"  and  Brus 
sels  carpet.  Sam  had  gone  with  her,  one  Saturday 
morning,  to  Lancaster,  to  help  her  do  her  choosing. 
Later  in  the  day  he  and  she  had  gone  to  the  vaude 
ville  show  at  the  park,  and  it  had  Been  the  shock  of 
the  latter,  combined  with  what  she  had  suddenly  felt 
to  be  the  wicked  selfishness  of  her  enormous  expendi 
tures  for  things  unnecessary  for  the  soul  and  only 
pleasing  to  the  worldly  eye,  that  had  brought  her  to 
a  realization  of  the  frivolity  and  error  of  temporizing 
with  the  World,  and  had  convinced  her  of  her  duty 
to  abandon  its  pomps  and  hollowness ;  to  seek  and  hold 
fast  to  the  Truth  that  the  Savior  had  died  to  reveal 
to  cold  and  indifferent  man.  Her  religious  nature 
was  awakened,  and  with  clear  vision  she  saw  the  real 
things  of  her  life  in  their  true  contrast  to  its  vanities. 
She  knew,  with  a  fatal  certainty,  that  never  again 
would  she  find  joy  in  the  things  that  heretofore  had 
absorbed  her  to  the  neglect  of  her  soul's  salvation. 


Ellie's  Furnishing 


She  must  give  herself  up.  And  she  must  therefore 
abandon  Sam. 

How  was  she  ever  to  break  it  to  him,  loving  and 
trusting  her  as  he  did  ? 

"What  '11  he  think  of  me,  comin'  with  somepin' 
like  this  and  my  promise  passed  only  four  weeks 
a  'ready.  And  he  's  so  much  for  me  to  dress !  And  I 
was  always  so  wonderful  stylish!  How  will  I  ever 
tell  him  I  'm  turnin'  plain  as  soon  as  I  otherwise 
can?" 

But  this  weakness,  she  knew,  was  only  a  temptation 
of  the  enemy  of  her  soul,  who  watched  every  thought 
of  her  heart,  to  trip  her  up  and  drag  her  back  into 
the  World  at  the  least  opportunity. 

Meanwhile,  while  Ellie  was  sitting  on  the  porch  in 
the  May  twilight,  battling  with  the  weakness  of  the 
flesh  in  the  sacrifice  which  she  was  called  upon  to 
make  for  the  faith  that  was  in  her,  Sam  Shunk  was 
trudging  down  the  road,  toward  the  home  of  his 
sweetheart,  on  an  errand  that  made  every  step  of  this 
usually  blissful  walk  one  of  pain  and  effort. 

He  found  Ellie  alone  on  the  porch  where,  a 
few  moments  before,  her  family  had  left  her. 

The  new  pink  shirt-waist  which  she  wore  made  her 
cheeks  look  so  like  ripe  peaches  that,  for  a  forgetful 
instant,  he  anticipated  with  satisfaction  the  kisses  he 
would  presently  press  upon  their  downy  softness. 

116 


Ellie's  Furnishing 


But  only  for  an  instant.  The  chilling  remembrance 
came  to  him  of  the  sad  purport  of  his  visit  to  her 
to-night. 

With  a  heavy  heart  he  seated  himself  in  the  rock 
ing-chair  at  her  side. 

So  absorbed  was  he  in  his  own  mental  burden  that 
he  failed  to  notice  how  subdued  and  reserved  was  the 
greeting  which  she  gave  him. 

From  force  of  habit  he  began  with  his  usual  form 
of  social  intercourse  in  opening  up  his  customary 
weekly  stint  of  courting. 

"Nice  evening,  this  evening;  say  not?" 

"Ain't!"  Ellie's  low  soft  voice  agreed. 

"How  's  the  folks?" 

"They  're  pretty  well. " 

A  faint  impression  of  something  unaccustomed  in 
her  tone  caused  Sam  to  steal  a  glance  at  her  fair  and 
delicate  face  at  his  side. 

* '  How  's  your  mom  ? "  he  inquired  conversationally. 
Sam  was  not  brilliant  in  dialogue,  and  as  Ellie  her 
self  was  usually  not  remarkably  articulate,  their  so 
cial  intercourse  was  sometimes  a  little  difficult. 

"She  's  pretty  well,  too,"  she  replied. 

"How  's  your  pop?" 

"He  's  old-fashioned." 

Sam  gently  rocked  his  chair  and  gazed  out  across 
the  darkening  lawn. 

117 


Ellie's  Furnishing 

"Nice  evening,  this  evening,  ain't  it  is,"  he  re 
turned  to  the  charge. 

' '  Yes,  anyhow, ' '  sweetly  agreed  Ellie. 

"How  's  Jakey?" 

"He  's  pretty  well." 

"Is  Si  well,  too?"  Sam  asked  by  way  of  variety. 

"Yes,  he  's  pretty  well. " 

They  rocked  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes. 

"I  'm  glad  the  folks  is  all  well." 

"Yes,  they  're  all  right  good,"  Ellie  consented  with 
complacent  absence  of  originality. 

"It  's  right  warm,  ain't?" 

"Yes,  pop  he  sayed  it  would  make  somepin'  down 
before  morning,  he  thought." 

"Say,  Ellie!  I  don't  trust  to  be  on  them  trolley 
cars  in  Lancaster  when  it  's  goin '  to  give  a  gust.  Last 
time  I  was  goin'  to  take  a  trolley  ride,  I  seen  it  was 
thunderin'  and  I  tole  the  conductor  I  wanted  off 
right  away  at  the  corner  already." 

"I  guess!"  Ellie  nodded. 

Sam  now  fell  into  a  temporary  silence  as  he  gloom 
ily  contemplated  the  dread  task  at  his  hands  of  tell 
ing  Ellie  the  object  of  his  visit.  Again  he  stole  a  side 
glance  at  her,  and  the  strange,  plaintive  look  he  de 
tected  about  her  sweet  eyes  smote  his  big,  generous 
heart.  How  could  he  make  her  unhappy?  She 
trusted  him  and  believed  in  his  love  for  her.  What 
should  he  do? 

118 


Ellie's  Furnishing 

"Say,  Ellie?" 

''What,  Sam?" 

"That  man  in  the  dime  matynee  in  there  at  Lan 
caster,  last  Sa'urday,  that  could  twist  himself  so 
queer,  still,  say,  Ellie,  that  was  false  hair  he  had  on!" 

"You  think!" 

"I  'm  pretty  near  sure." 

"Now  think!"  Ellie  said  wonderingly. 

"And  that  colored  lady  you  mind  of — that  sung 
sich  a  touchin'  piece  about  'I  wisht  my  color  would 
fade,'  say,  Ellie,  she  was  only  a  white  person  with 
shoe-blacking  or  whatever  on  her  face ! ' ' 

' '  I  say ! ' '  cried  Ellie  in  surprise. 

"A  body  had  n't  ought  to  give  their  countenance  to 
sich  shows  like  what  them  is,  Ellie.  It  don't  do  a 
person  no  good. ' ' 

"No,  Sam,  I  don't  think  so  nuther.  And  if  you 
feel  a  little  conscientious,  you  'd  better  let  sich  things 
be  then." 

"Ellie,  I  got  to  tell  you  somepin'!" 

"Don't  tell  me  to-night,  Sam,"  Ellie  pleaded,  feel 
ing  sure  he  was  going  to  press  her  to  name  their  wed 
ding-day,  as  he  had  lately  been  doing  most  strenu 
ously.  "I  ain't  feelin'  good  to-night.  Don't  speak 
nothing  to  me  to-night. ' ' 

"I  can't  help  for  that — I  got  to  tell  you  this  here. 
Say,  Ellie,  it  ain't  that  I  have  n't  got  no  love  to  you— 
but  indeed,  Ellie,  I  can't  marry  you." 

119 


Ellie's  Furnishing 


Ellie  slowly  turned  in  her  chair  and  gazed  at  him 
in  the  deepening  darkness. 

"Why  not,  Sam?"  she  asked,  in  a  voice  so  low  that 
he  scarcely  caught  her  words. 

"Ellie,  I  'm  going  to  give  myself  up !" 

"Oh,  Sam!" 

"Don't  tempt  me  not  to!"  he  cried  almost  pite- 
ously.  "I  want  you — you  know  how  bad  I  want  you 
— hut  you  're  in  the  World,  Ellie,  and  I  can't  marry 
you!  If  it  breaks  my  heart  and  yours,  I  've  got  to 
leave  you  and  cleave  unto  Christ !  It  was  going  with 
you  to  town  done  it— and  buying  them  things  for 
your  'furnishing'  and  then  seein'  the  dime  matynee.  I 
seen,  Ellie,  how  pleasing  to  the  eye  it  was,  But  not  for 
the  glory  of  Gawd.  And  I  can't  never  no  more  give 
my  countenance  to  fashionable  things.  I  'm  turning 
plain  as  soon  as  I  can  get  to  town  to  get  my  plain  clo  'es 
once.  Servin'  the  Lord  ain't  easy,  it  ain't  easy,"  he 
said.  "You  mind  where  the  Bible  says,  'if  a  man 
smite  thee,  turn  him  the  other  cheek. '  That  's  pretty 
hard,  and  it  would  n't  suit  me  so  well  to  do  it.  In 
deed,  I  say  that.  But  I  must  do  all  them  things  if 
I  'm  a  child  of  Gawd.  And  John  Souders  preached 
how  he  seen  'em  die  horrible  already  when  they  was 
unconverted. ' ' 

"But  Sam-" 

"Ellie!"    Sam    quickly    interrupted,    as    though 

12O 


''  '  And  that  next  evening,  the  sky  was  redder  than  ever'" 


Ellie's  Furnishing 


dreading  the  effect  of  her  pleading,  "it  's  like  dyin* 
to  me  to  give  you  up.  I  'd  most  ruther  te  dead. 
But  it  's  my  duty.  Last  night  my  sins  opened  up  be 
fore  me  and  I  was  wonderful  concerned ;  and  at  last, 
after  a  great  struggle,  I  made  up  my  mind  I  'd  give 
myself  to  the  guidance  of  the  Spirit.  Then,  here  this 
morning,  already,  when  I  fell  awake,  the  enemy  was 
tempting  me,  and  he  tole  me  how  pretty  you  was  and 
how  sweet,  Ellie.  But,"  Sam  solemnly  added,  "I  Ve 
overcome  the  enemy,  and  I  come  here  to-night  yet  to 
give  you  good-by. ' ' 

Only  "the  angels  in  the  heavens  above  and  the  de 
mons  down  under  the  sea ' '  could  measure  the  sacrifice 
which  the  stalwart  youth  was  thus  making  in  his  loy 
alty  to  what  he  felt  to  be  a  larger  truth  of  life  than 
any  mere  personal  relation  of  his  own. 

' '  Sam !  Sam !  Listen  at  me. ' ' 

Ellie  leaned  forward  in  her  eagerness  and  clasped 
his  big  arm  with  both  her  hands.  "I  got  in  trouble, 
too,  Sam,  about  my  sins,  after  we  'd  been  to  town.  I 
was  in  wonderful  trouble,  Sam.  And  that  evening," 
she  eagerly  went  on,  "the  sky  got  so  red  I  thought 
the  world  would  go  to  an  end.  And  next  day  I  seen 
how  nice  and  humble  mom  looked  in  her  plain  dress — 
and,  Sam,  I  hated  my  furniture  and  my  fashionable 
clo'es!  And  that  next  evening,  the  sky  was  redder 
than  ever!  And  Sam,  I  let  loose  of  everything— my 

123 


Ellie's  Furnishing 


clo'es,  my  furniture,  the  party— and  you— and  joined 
to  the  Lord !  And  this  morning  I  went  over  to  Mamie 
Herr's  that  I  got  mad  at  'cause  she  talked  down  on 
you — and  I  knowed  I  must  be  satisfied  with  all  my 
enemies,  so  I  tole  her  I  was  n't  any  more  mad  yet. 
And  oh,  Sam,  it  never  suspicioned  me  that  the  Spirit 
was  guidin'  you  too!" 

Sam 's  arms  were  about  her  now,  and  she  was  cling 
ing  to  him: 

"  'Gawd  works  in  a  mysterious  way 
His  wonders  to  perform.'  : 

"Ain't  He  does,  Ellie!"  he  whispered,  pressing  an 
ecstatic  kiss  upon  her  lips. 
"Ain't  He  does!"  was  Ellie's  rapturous  response. 


124 


MRS.  HOLZAPPLE'S 
CONVICTIONS 


MRS.  HOLZAPPLE'S 
CONVICTIONS 


"TEAVE  us  come  out  on  the  porch  oncet,  Lizzie.  I 
1  J  got  to  speak  somepin'  to  you." 

"Won't  it  do  till  I  get  through  the  dishes  a 'ready, 
Dan?"  Lizzie  hesitatingly  asked,  pausing  in  her 
clearing  of  the  supper-table  to  glance  up  at  her  tall 
husband. 

"Come  out  now,"  Dan  said  with  a  motion  of  his 
head  toward  the  porch. 

Dan  was  accustomed  to  being  obeyed;  he  was  fore 
man  of  a  room  in  a  cotton  factory  and  those  under 
him  were  wont  to  heed  the  mere  lift  of  his  eye.  But 
by  no  one  in  his  employ  was  his  word,  his  look,  his 
slightest  wish  so  dutifully  heeded  as  by  the  pretty 
young  wife  whom,  with  the  devotion  of  a  strong,  deep 
and  constant  nature,  he  loved. 

"The  dishes  can  wait,  Lizzie.  I  '11  help  you 
through  with  'em  then, ' '  he  said,  taking  his  hat  from 

127 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

a  nail  in  the  kitchen  wall  and  walking  toward  the 
door. 

"I  got  somepin'  to  speak  to  you." 

Lizzie's  sweet  face  took  on  a  look  of  faint  surprise 
as,  lifting  their  three-year-old  little  girl  from  her 
high  chair,  she  followed  him. 

He  turned  about  in  the  narrow  passage  leading 
from  the  kitchen  to  the  front  door,  and  took  the  child 
from  her  arms. 

"I  tole  you  I  did  n't  want  you  to  be  carryin'  the 
baby  so  much  still  (constantly),"  he  said  in  a  gravely 
reproving  tone.  "Leave  her  walk  oncet.  It  's  too 
hard  on  your  back,  now  she  's  gettin'  so  heavy. 
Now  don't  forget  again,  Lizzie,  that  I  tole  you;  ain't 
you  won't?" 

"I  won't,"  Lizzie  meekly  acquiesced  as  she  gave 
the  child  up  to  him. 

The  little  girl,  in  her  big  father's  arms,  laughed 
with  glee  and  patted  his  smooth-shaven  face  with  a 
fearlessness  that  made  her  mother  smile  at  the  cun 
ning  audacity  of  the  mite. 

Dan  perched  her  on  his  shoulder  and  when  they 
came  out  from  the  narrow  hall  to  the  front  porch  he 
swung  her  up  high  before  depositing  her  on  the  floor. 
She  caught  his  trousers  in  her  tiny  fingers  and  looked 
up  at  him  insistently.  "Up  high  aden!"  she  de 
manded.  "Up  high!  Betty  want  up  high!" 

128 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

He  swung  her  up  a  second  and  a  third  time  then, 
with  a  hug  and  kiss,  again  put  her  down.  It  was  a 
never-ceasing  wonder  to  Lizzie  the  way  her  masterful 
"Man"  would  obey  the  mandates  of  his  tiny,  imper 
ious  daughter. 

This  evening,  however,  as  he  tossed  her  "up  high," 
the  realization  of  her  growing  weight  gave  him  an  un 
easy  consciousness  that  he  was  being  remiss  in  his  par 
ental  duty  in  not  taking  some  means,  whatever  they 
might  be,  for  teaching  this  audacious  baby  some  of 
the  rudiments  at  least  of  respect  for  parental  author 
ity.  Why,  she  minded  her  mother  better  than  she 
did  him!  He  chuckled  inwardly  as  the  incongruous 
fact  came  home  to  him,  though  his  heart  to-night 
was  not  light  enough  to  be  much  amused  at  any 
thing. 

"Now,  Betty,"  he  said  to  the  child,  "you  run 
'round  the  yard  and  play  till  I  speak  somepin'  to 
mom. ' ' 

"I  'm  afraid  she  '11  pull  them  lilies,  Dan,"  Lizzie 
anxiously  suggested. 

Dan's  little  home  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town  was 
set  back  in  a  small  "yard,"  and  at  the  side  of  the 
house,  just  out  of  sight  of  the  front  porch,  was  a 
large  bush  of  August  lilies,  now  in  full  bloom. 

Dan  hesitated  an  instant,  then  a  look  of  resolution 
settled  about  his  mouth. 

129 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

"Set  down  and  wait  fur  me  a  minute,"  he  said  to 
Lizzie.  "Come  along,  Betty." 

He  took  the  child  by  the  hand  and  led  her  around 
the  house  to  the  bush  of  lilies. 

"Now,  Betty,"  he  earnestly  spoke  to  her  as  he 
knelt  on  one  knee  and  held  the  little  girl  close  to  him, 
"you  see  this  here  bush?" 

"  'Es,"  Betty  answered  with  an  uninterested  air. 
"Want  up  high!  Up  high!"  she  clamored,  trying  to 
wriggle  out  of  his  arm. 

But  he  held  her  firmly.  "Look  at  them  lilies. 
Now,  Betty,  I  don't  want  you  to  touch  one  of  them 
posies,  do  you  understand?  You  have  n't  the  dare  to 
touch  one  of  them,"  he  distinctly  and  emphatically 
told  her.  "Now  you  mind  what  I  tell  you,  baby,  will 
you?" 

' '  Betty  want  up  high,  Dan !    Up  high ! ' ' 

"Will  you  keep  your  hands  off  them  flowers?" 

"  'Es.    Betty  want  up  high!" 

He  tossed  her  up  once  more,  and  when  he  had  put 
her  down,  with  a  parting  warning  against  touching 
the  flowers,  he  went  back  to  his  wife. 

"I  'm  goin'  to  train  her  to  listen  without  bein' 
watched,"  he  said  to  Lizzie  as  he  took  a  chair  beside 
her,  his  air  of  determination  sitting  heavily  upon  him. 
"I  explained  to  her  she  has  n't  the  dare  to  touch  them 
flowers.  She  's  old  enough  to  understand  and  to 

130 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

mind.  She  's  comin '  four  years  old.  She  '11  be  four 
years  old  till  September.  Now  if  she  does  touch  'em, 
I  '11  have  to  learn  her!" 

"But  that  won't  put  the  lilies  back  on  the  bushes, 
Dan,  if  she  's  pulled  'em,"  Lizzie  again  anxiously  de 
murred. 

' '  I  can 't  help  fur  that.  We  got  to  begin  with  some- 
pin'  to  learn  her  to  mind  without  bein'  watched,"  he 
returned ;  and,  as  usual,  his  word  was  final  and  Lizzie, 
in  spite  of  her  uneasiness  for  her  flowers,  let  him  have 
his  way. 

"What  did  you  want  to  speak  to  me,  Dan?  Is 
somepin'  the  matter,  or  whatever?" 

"Yes."  He  paused  an  instant,  then  doggedly 
added:  "I  've  been  set  Hack  by  the  meetin'." 

Lizzie  and  Dan  were  New  Mennonites  and  wore  the 
"plain"  garb.  To  be  "set  back  by  the  meeting" 
meant  to  be  suspended  temporarily  from  church 
membership,  this  discipline  not  only  being  counted  a 
disgrace  among  the  brethren,  but  involving  domestic 
complications  that  were  very  embarrassing. 

"You  need  n't  mind,  Lizzie.  7  don't  mind!"  Dan 
affirmed.  He  was  so  accustomed  to  Lizzie's  minding 
nothing  that  he  did  n't  mind,  that  it  never  occurred 
to  him  she  might  have  a  personal  and  separate 
cause  for  distress  in  this  matter. 

"But,  Dan,  when  was  you  set  back  a 'ready?    I 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

ain't  heard  no  one  speak  nothin'  about  it.  0 
Dan!" 

"Here  about  three  weeks  back  don't  you  mind,  Liz 
zie,  three  of  the  brethren  come  to  see  me  one  evening  ? 
And  I  did  n't  tell  you  what  they  come  fur,  because  I 
did  n't  see  no  use  in  your  botherin'  your  mind  with 
their  foolishness." 

"Did  they  come  to  reason  with  you?  But,  Dan, 
what  can  they  lay  to  you?  You  're  as  consistent  a 
member  as  you  otherwise  could  be !"  she  loyally  main 
tained. 

"You  never  heard  such  blamed  foolishness  as  they 
spoke  to  me  that  evening!  It  's  made  me  that  put 
out  with  New  Mennonites  I  '11  never  have  nothin' 
more  to  do  with  'em ! ' ' 

Had  a  bomb  exploded  at  her  feet,  Lizzie  could  not 
have  been  more  startled  and  confounded  than  she  was 
by  this  unusual  language  from  her  smooth-shaven 
New  Mennonite  husband.  That  he  should  say 
"blamed!"  It  was  so  nearly  like  swearing— and  the 
language  of  New  Mennonites  is  ever  restrained  and 
well-considered.  And  that  Dan  should  "talk  down" 
on  his  church — the  true  church  of  Christ!  Lizzie's 
brain  reeled  as  she  heard  him. 

"They  come  to  reason  with  me  and  give  me  warnin' 
I  'd  be  set  back  if  I  did  n  't  show  I  cared  more  fur  the 
Lord  than  what  I  did  fur  "my  child,  because  they  all 

132 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

seen  how  in  meetin',  when  Betty  gets  sleepy,  still,  I 
hold  her  on  my  lap  and  leave  her  sleep  and  how  I 
mebbe  smooth  her  hair,  still,  or  mebbe  oncet  or  twicet 
kiss  her  yet !  It  was  disrespec  'f ul  to  Almighty  Gawd, 
they  sayed,  to  set  such  affection  on  my  child.  They 
sayed  when  my  child  was  with  me  the  Lord  was  n't 
paid  much  attention  to,  and  if  I  did  n't  mind  to  my 
self  better,  He  'd  mebbe  take  my  baby  from  me,  they 
sayed.  And  I  up  and  tole  'em  they  was  a  pack  of 
fools.  Then  they  spoke  the  Scriptures  to  me  how  you 
can  read,  'Call  no  man  fool  lest  ye  be  in  danger  of 
hell,'  they  says.  Then  they  went.  And  here  the 
next  week  they  come  and  reasoned  with  me  again, 
and  wanted  to  know  did  I  repent  of  my  intemp'rate 
language?  And  I  sayed  I  was  willin'  to  take  half  the 
blame  if  they  'd  take  the  other  half  fur  speakin'  such 
nonsense  to  a  man  like  what  they  speaked  to  me — 
which  it  ain't  to  be  surprised  if  it  made  a  body  mad. 
But  no,  they  wanted  me  to  take  the  whole  blame,  my 
half  and  their  'n'  too  yet!  And  that  there,"  Dan 
stubbornly  declared,  "that  there  I  would  n't  do! 
Half  the  blame  I  'd  take.  But  the  other  half  I 
would  n't  take.  Then  here  this  after,  they  come  to 
the  shop  and  tole  me  I  was  set  back  till  I  become 
conscious  to  myself  I  'd  done  wrong.  I  tole  'em  I 
did  n't  do  nothin'  to  repent.  They  sayed  my  deport 
ment  in  life  testifies  I  live  carnal.  Them  was  their 

133 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

words.  I  sayed,  did  I  ever  leave  liquor  boss  me,  or 
tobacco,  or  whatever?  So  I  was  that  put  out  with 
'em,  I  got  rid  of  'em  as  soon  as  I  otherwise  could. 
And  now,  Lizzie,  to  be  sure  since  I  'm  set  back,  you  '11 
have  to  come  out  of  meetin'  too.  Don't  wait  till 
they  set  you  back — just  you  up  and  leave  'em  know 
open,  that  you  ain't  no  more  one  of  'em.  I  did  n't 
tell  you  none  of  this  before,  but  now  since  I  'm  set 
back,  to  be  sure  you  had  to  know.  Don't  leave  it 
bother  you  any.  It  don't  bother  me  any.  I  was  any 
how  gettin'  to  feel  that  these  here  New  Mennonites 
did  n't  suit  me  so  wery  good,  with  their  claiming 
they  're  the  only  true  church.  There  's  good  in  all 
churches,  I  say." 

"But,  0  Dan!"  wailed  Lizzie,  "the  Lutheran  re 
ligion  or  the  Presbyterian  or  any  of  them  churches 
which  belongs  to  the  world,  them  's  no  religions  to 
die  by,  Dan!  Think  what  it  '11  mean  to  me  if  you 
don't  hold  out  in  your  profession—" 

Dan  had  no  time  to  express  his  surprise  at  this  un 
wonted  opposition  to  him  and  lack  of  loyalty  to  his 
side,  for,  at  this  moment,  small  Betty  appeared  at  the 
step  of  the  porch,  bearing  an  armful  of  long-stemmed 
August  lilies. 

"Betty  picked  'em  fur  'oo,  Dan,"  she  ingratia 
tingly  lisped,  gazing  up  confidingly  into  the  non 
plussed  face  of  her  father.  "Pitty  pothieth  fur 
'oo !" 

134 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

Dan  turned  pale  and  the  determination  in  the  set 
of  his  lips  became  Bismarckish,  as  he  rose  from  his 
chair. 

"Dan,"  faintly  cried  Lizzie  as  she  caught  that  look 
on  his  face,  "what  are  you  goin'  to  do  to  her?" 

"I  '11  have  to  learn  her,  Lizzie,"  Dan's  big,  firm 
voice  responded.  "She  's  old  enough  to  get  learn  't 
now  and  she  ain't  that  dumb  (stupid)  but  what  she 
understood  me  when  I  tole  her  she  had  n't  the  dare 
to  touch  them  lilies." 

Lizzie  sank  back  in  her  chair,  as  usual  acquiescing 
helplessly. 

Dan  took  the  flowers  from  the  child 's  arms,  his  face 
growing  a  bit  paler  as  she  sweetly  told  him,  "Betty 
picked  'em  fur  'oo,  Dan.  Pitty  pothieth!" 

"But  Dan  tole  you  you  had  n't  the  dare,  Betty. 
You  must  n't  do  what  Dan  tells  you  you  have  n't  the 
dare  to  do.  I  '11  have  to  learn  you  that." 

He  picked  her  up  and  carried  her  into  the  house 
and  Lizzie,  in  dread  of  what  was  to  take  place,  did 
not  follow. 

"It  's  time  anyhow  that  he  learnt  her  to  mind," 
she  tried  to  comfort  herself.  "But  it  goes  wonderful 
hard  with  him.  He  '11  do  it,  though,  if  he  sets  his 
mind  on  it.  Dan  is  now  wonderful  set,  still,  once  he 
makes  up  his  mind." 

A  great  heaviness  weighed  upon  her  heart  at  the 
thought  of  how  "set"  Dan  was.  Would  he  ever 

135 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

humble  his  ' '  high  mind ' '  to  the  point  of  ' '  giving  him 
self  up"  once  more  to  the  authority  of  the  "meet 
ing?"  She  could  hardly  hope  that  he  would.  She 
would  fervently  pray  that  the  Spirit  might  soften 
him— but  oh  he  was  "that  wonderful  set"!  And 
what,  if  he  continued  obdurate,  must  be  her  course? 
Her  flesh  turned  cold  as  she  realized  with  prophetic 
certainty  the  impossibility  of  her  yielding  in  this  mat 
ter  to  her  husband. 

By  the  rules  of  the  Mennonite  faith,  a  wife  can 
hold  no  communication  with  her  husband  while  he  re 
mains  either  a  backslider  or  an  ex-communicant.  She 
must  assist  the  church  in  disciplining  him  by  cutting 
herself  off  from  all  intercourse  with  him  except  what 
is  unavoidable  in  the  fact  that  they  live  under  the 
same  roof.  She  cannot  sit  at  table  with  him  or  share 
his  room.  She  is  prohibited  even  from  speaking  to 
him  except  when  it  is  absolutely  necessary. 

To  Lizzie,  the  tragedy  of  being  obliged  to  take  this 
course  with  her  devoted  husband,  the  realization  of 
the  terrible  strain  her  naturally  yielding  mind  must 
bear  in  withstanding  his  strong  will,  made  her  very 
soul  sick. 

"He  '11  try  to  make  me  mind  him;  he  won't  leave 
,no  stone  unturned  to  make  me  give  in  to  him,"  she 
moaned  in  spirit.  "And  all  our  happy  life  together 
is  spoiled  fur  us  yet!" 

136 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

Had  her  own  soul's  salvation  been  the  only  thing 
at  stake,  she  would  readily  have  sacrificed  it  and 
burned  in  hell  forever  for  the  sake  of  her  earthly  hap 
piness  with  Dan.  But  it  was  his  eternal  salvation, 
also,  that  was  in  jeopardy.  Until  he  repented,  hum 
bled  himself,  and  was  again  restored  to  the  favor  of 
the  meeting,  he  was  "out  of  Christ"  and  lost.  She 
must  cooperate  with  the  brethren  in  their  disciplinary 
efforts  to  restore  him  to  the  sheepfold. 

Poor  Lizzie  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and 
prayed  passionately  for  strength  to  "hold  out." 


n 


THE  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  Lizzie  dressed  herself 
as  usual  for  meeting.  On  this  Sunday,  for  the  first 
time  since  their  marriage,  she  would  go  to  meeting 
without  Dan.  The  hands  that  drew  the  Mennonite 
white  cap  over  her  pretty  hair  were  cold  and  trem 
bling. 

"Oh,  Dan,  Dan!"  her  soul  cried  out.  "My  heart 
will  break !  I  'd  stand  by  you  against  any  one  in  the 
whole  world.  But  I  can't  stand  out  against  Christ. 
I  must  n't  give  way !" 

Dan  came  into  the  bedchamber  just  as  she  was  put- 

9  137 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

ting  on  her  black  sunbonnet  over  the  white  cap.  He 
was  carrying  Betty  on  his  back,  his  ears  serving  as 
reins  for  her  "horsey." 

He  started  in  surprise  as  he  saw  Lizzie  dressed  for 
meeting.  Quickly  putting  down  the  child,  he  went 
across  the  room  to  the  window  where  she  stood.  He 
was  not  prepared  for  her  opposition.  Indeed  he  had 
not  conceived  of  the  possibility  of  it.  She  had  shared 
his  room  the  night  before  and  had  sat  at  breakfast 
with  him  this  morning. 

But  now,  as  his  eyes  rested  upon  the  pale  face  in 
side  her  black  hood,  there  came  into  his  own  counte 
nance  the  Bismarckish  look  he  had  worn  on  the  pre 
vious  evening  when  schooling  himself  to  the  ordeal  of 
chastising  his  small  daughter. 

"Where  you  goin',  Lizzie?" 

"To  meetin',  Dan." 

She  went  to  him  suddenly  and  clasped  her  arms 
about  his  neck. 

"Good-by,  Dan!"  she  sobbed.  "It  's  the  last 
time  I  dare  touch  or  speak  to  you — except  when 
I  got  to— till  you  Ve  gave  yourself  up  again 
a  'ready ! ' ' 

Dan  laughed  as  he  took  her  chin  in  his  hand  and 
turned  her  face  up  to  his. 

"I  ain't  leavin'  you  act  like  that  to  me,  Lizzie!  If 
you  'd  Been  set  back  instead  of  me  I  'd  of  left  meetin ', 

138 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

you  know  I  would.  And  when  I  'm  set  back,  I  ex 
pect  you  to  come  out  from  among  'em  and  stand  by 
your  husband." 

"I  must  obey  to  the  rules,  Dan,"  Lizzie  faintly 
murmured. 

"You  must  obey  to  me,  Lizzie.  Take  off  your  Bon 
net." 

"Dan,  I  must  choose  Christ  before  you." 

"It  's  my  opinion  a  woman  ain't  choosin'  Christ 
when  she  's  goin'  back  on  her  man.  Christ  would  n't 
want  you  to  choose  Him  that  there  way,  I  don't  be 
lieve." 

"I  must  choose  Him  by  obeyin'  to  the  rules  of  the 
church  He  founded.  And  I  must  obey  to  the  Scrip 
ture.  The  Book  says,  'If  any  man  obey  not  our 
word  by  this  epistle,  note  that  man  and  have  no  com 
pany  with  him.  Receive  him  not  into  your  houses 
nor  bid  him  God-speed.  He  that  biddeth  him  God 
speed  maketh  himself  partaker  of  his  evil  deeds.' 
Now,  Dan,  would  n't  I  be  biddin'  you  God-speed  if  I 
lived  with  you  as  your  wife  after  you  did  n't  hold  out 
no  more  and  was  set  back  ? ' ' 

"But  if  you  're  wantin'  to  mind  every  word  where 
the  Book  says,  you  could  n't  stay  in  the  same  house 
with  me  at  all!"  Dan  indignantly  retorted.  "  'Re 
ceive  him  not  into  your  house ! '  You  see,  Lizzie,  that 
contraries  the  whole  thing  yet,  and  I  don't  believe  it! 

139 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

There,  now,  take  your  bonnet  off.  I  ain't  leavin'  you 
go  to  meetin'  no  more,  Lizzie." 

"Dan,"  Lizzie  said  with  solemn  resolution,  "I  'm 
not  givin'  way.  I  'm  stickin'  clos't  to  Christ.  I  'm 
not  givin'  way  fur  no  earthly  ties." 

"I  tell  you,"  Dan  sharply  returned,  "I  ain't 
leavin'  you  go  to  meetin'  this  mornin'  nor  never  no 
more ! ' ' 

"I  can't  help  fur  that.     I  got  to  go,  Dan." 

Something  utterly  unwonted  in  her  voice  gave  Dan 
a  sudden,  unmistakable  conviction  that  he  had  stum 
bled  upon  a  hitch  in  his  wife's  character,  the  exis 
tence  of  which  he  had  never  known.  He  gazed  at 
her  for  a  moment  with  steely  eyes.  Love  struggled 
in  his  breast  with  a  cold-blooded  impulse  to  crush,  at 
any  cost,  this  hitherto  pliable  will.  A  fierce  jeal 
ousy  of  the  religion  to  which  she  adhered,  rather  than 
to  her  husband,  burned  in  his  heart. 

"You— ain't— goin',"  he  slowly  and  with  grim  de 
termination  repeated. 

He  moved  suddenly  across  the  room  to  the  door, 
went  out  and  locked  her  in. 

m 

Two  hours  later,  in  time  to  cook  the  noon  meal,  Lizzie 
was  released  from  her  prison.  She  manifested  no 

140 


"  'Dan,'  Lizzie  said  with  solemn  resolution,  'I  'm  not  givin' 
way  fur  no  earthly  ties ' " 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

resentment  for  her  morning's  ignominious  incarcera 
tion.  Her  long  solitude  in  her  room  had  only 
strengthened  her  resolution  to  "hold  out,"  to  ad 
here  through  every  trial  to  the  rules  of  discipline  of 
the  meeting,  to  be  "faithful  to  Christ,"  though  her 
heart  broke  in  the  struggle. 

When  dinner  was  ready  she  put  the  baby  up  to  the 
table  in  her  high  chair,  then  gently  spoke  to  Dan  and 
told  him  to  ' '  come  eat. ' ' 

In  pale,  stern  silence  he  came  and  took  his  place. 
Lizzie  did  not  sit  down.  He  looked  up  at  her  as  she 
stood  beside  Betty 's  chair,  ready  to  wait  upon  him  and 
the  baby. 

"Set  down,  Lizzie." 

She  shook  her  head.  It  was  forbidden  that  she 
should  sit  at  table  with  her  recreant  husband  or 
speak  to  him  any  unnecessary  words. 

' '  Set  down ! "  he  again  commanded  in  a  hard,  cold 
voice. 

She  looked  at  him  piteously,  her  lips  quivering,  and 
again  shook  her  head. 

"You  set  down  and  eat  along,  or  I  don't  eat  one 
bite!" 

Lizzie's  face  grew  a  little  whiter  and  her  eyes  more 
distressed.  But  she  remained  mute  and  resolute. 

"All  right !  If  you  want  to  make  us  both  sick  yet 
that  's  your  affairs ! ' ' 

H3 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

Pushing  back  his  chair  he  strode  to  the  door.  At 
the  threshold  he  turned  and  spoke. 

"It  's  easy  seen  you  ain 't  got  no  love  to  me,  or  you 
could  n't  act  like  what  you  're  actin' !" 

This  was  hard  to  bear  in  silence  when  it  was  out  of 
love  for  him  and  concern  for  his  soul 's  salvation  that 
she  put  herself  to  this  torture. 

Dan  went  out  and  did  not  come  home  again  until 
nine  o'clock  that  night. 

It  was  the  first  Sunday  in  their  married  life  that 
they  had  not  spent  together. 

He  did  not  find  his  wife  in  their  bedroom  when  he 
came  in.  Through  the  open  door  he  saw  that  she  was 
lying  on  the  settee  in  the  sitting-room.  She  was 
"holding  out"  in  a  way  that  even  in  his  jealous, 
wounded  wrath  and  pain  made  him  marvel  at  her 
strength  and  courage. 

And  now  began  a  period  of  their  lives  that  in  after 
years  they  did  not  like  to  remember.  Through  three 
long,  weary  months  the  sun  in  the  heavens  was  for 
them  blotted  out.  In  all  that  time,  though  living  un 
der  one  roof,  they  were  as  strangers  to  one  another,  or 
worse.  Implicitly,  as  of  old,  Lizzie  obeyed  her  hus 
band's  least  wish— save  only  when  it  conflicted  with 
her  church's  discipline.  But  in  her  loyalty  to  her 
religious  faith  she  remained  immovable.  Occasion 
ally  Dan  would  give  vent  to  his  feelings  in  an  out- 

144 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

break  of  bitter  harshness  toward  her.  But  invariably 
he  would  repent  him  of  this,  for  he  could  not  be  ada 
mant  to  the  powerful  appeal  of  her  evident  anguish. 

-So  the  weeks  moved  on,  filled  with  keenest  suffering 
to  both,  and  with  no  sign  of  yielding  in  either. 

One  day,  when  the  sorrow  of  their  alienation 
seemed  greater  than  she  could  bear,  Lizzie  went  to 
plead  with  the  brethren  to  reinstate  Dan  and  thus  lift 
the  intolerable  strain  of  her  cooperation  with  them  in 
disciplining  him. 

She  pleaded  his  virtues. 

' '  He  never  used  me  mean  in  his  life,  fur  all  he  's  so 
wonderful  set  about  havin'  his  own  way  still.  But 
Dan  was  never  no  rough  speaker.  He  never  was  one 
of  them  to  talk  a  little  short  to  me  that  way,  like  some 
—any  way,  not  till  this  trouble  come  on  us  a 'ready. 
And  he  was  always  a  wonderful  good  purvider,  Dan 
was.  He  says  he  '11  take  a  half  the  blame  if  yous  will 
take  the  other  half.  That  's  all  the  farther  he  '11 
go.  That  other  half  he  says  he  won't  take  and  he  's 
so  wonderful  set  that  way — " 

Lizzie  sighed  in  deep  despair,  as  again  she  contem 
plated  Dan's  "setness"  in  the  face  of  the  hopeless 
obstinacy  in  the  countenances  of  the  brethren. 

Dan  must  humble  his  pride,  was  their  verdict,  and 
give  himself  up,  or  eventually  be  ex-communicated. 

And  so,  in  heaviness  of  spirit,  she  went  home  to  the 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

sorrowful  life  of  alienation  from  the  husband  whom 
she  loved. 

Dan's  bitterness  grew  upon  him,  as  week  after 
week  she  continued  to  "hold  out."  At  last,  one  day, 
when  she  was  taking  her  solitary  meal  in  the  kitchen, 
he  came  to  her  with  a  question. 

"Lizzie,"  he  said,  speaking  more  gently  than  he 
had  done  for  a  long  time,  "will  you  answer  me  just 
one  thing?  How  long  will  it  go  till  you  give  in  to 
me?  I  ain't  standin'  this  here  thing  much  longer, 
Lizzie ! ' ' 

So  unswervingly  had  she  hitherto  adhered  to  her  re 
solve  to  hold  no  unnecessary  verbal  communication 
with  him,  that  he  scarcely  hoped  for  an  answer  to  his 
inquiry.  But  this  time  she  raised  her  sad  eyes  to  his 
face  and  gazed  at  him  steadfastly,  as  she  replied, 
"Till  you  give  yourself  up  again,  Dan.  I  entertain 
a  hope  fur  you.  The  brothers  and  sisters  entertains 
a  hope  too." 

Dan  saw,  with  clear-eyed  vision,  as  he  met  her 
transparent  gaze,  that  never,  never  would  she  yield 
in  this  matter.  If  their  old  relation  was  to  be  re 
stored,  it  would  be  he— great,  strong,  masterful 
Pennsylvania  Dutchman  that  he  was— who  would 
have  to  give  in. 

And  that  was  what  he  knew  he  would  never  do. 
Rather  would  he  pack  up,  bag  and  baggage,  and  leave 

146 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

her  to  her  Mennonite  brethren  and  her  rules— since 
she  preferred  them  before  him.  He  would  not,  he 
could  not,  give  in  to  her. 

But  as  he  looked  at  her,  suddenly  for  the  first  time 
he  became  conscious  of  the  great  change  that  had  been 
wrought  in  her  in  the  past  months,  a  change  that 
somehow  made  her  appear  remote  and  unfamiliar  to 
his  eyes.  Her  daily  spiritual  struggle  had  given  to 
her  countenance  a  look  of  other-worldliness,  an  ex 
alted  expression  that  seemed  to  see  beyond  the  things 
of  earth. 

And  there  was  borne  in  upon  Dan's  consciousness, 
as  he  continued  to  look  upon  this  new  and  unfamiliar 
face  of  his  wife,  the  realization  of  another  change. 
His  heart  contracted  with  a  sharp  agony  as  he  saw 
this  alarming  fact.  How  could  he  have  been  so  blind, 
he  wondered,  in  all  these  weeks,  not  to  have  seen  it 
coming  on— her  dreadful  pallor  and  thinness  and  that 
frail  droop  of  her  whole  frame  t 

"You  ain't  eatin'  wery  hearty,  Lizzie,"  he  tenderly 
said  as  he  noticed  the  scant  supply  of  food  on  her 
plate.  "You  're  just  pickin'  a  piece  (mincing). 
Why  don't  you  eat  more  hearty?" 

Lizzie  sipped  her  weak  coffee  and  made  no  answer. 

"I  take  notice  your  hands  are  gettin'  so  wonderful 
poor  (thin),  Lizzie,"  Dan  went  on  in  a  troubled  tone. 

Lizzie  said  nothing. 

H7 


Mrs.  Holzapple's   Convictions 

"Why  don't  you  take  some  spreadin's?"  he  contin 
ued,  pushing  the  butter  and  the  currant  jelly  within 
her  reach. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Are  you  gettin'  to  feel  sneaky  (choicy)  about 
your  victuals  ? ' ' 

She  did  not  reply. 

"I  take  notice  here  fur  a  while  back  you  keep  your 
self  so  stroobly.  Is  it  mebbe  that  you  're  too  weak  to 
comb  yourself?" 

She  raised  her  hands  to  her  wavy  hair  and  smoothed 
it  back  under  her  white  cap,  then  again  bent  her  head 
to  sip  her  coffee  from  her  saucer. 

' '  Shall  I  get  you  a  bottle  of  the  Sanative  Compound 
or  some  pills  or  whatever?" 

She  gave  him  a  look  that  expressed  her  thanks,  but 
shook  her  head. 

"Mom  she  took  seven  bottles  of  the  Compound 
when  she  was  feelin'  mean  and  it  set  her  up  won 
derful." 

Again  Lizzie  shook  her  head. 

"Where  are  you  feelin'  mean  that  you  've  got  so 
poor  lookin'  at  your  face  and  hands?  Is  it  your 
stomeek  or  what  ? ' ' 

Silence  was  his  response. 

"Damn  it,  Lizzie!"  he  burst  forth  in  an  agony  of 
mind.  "Answer  to  me!" 

She  sank  back  in  her  chair  and  stared  up  at  him — 

148 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

and  suddenly,  her  eyes  rolled  back  in  her  head,  her 
face  turned  marble  white,  her  head  fell  forward  on 
her  breast. 

Dan's  heart  stood  still  with  terror.  Was  she  dead? 
The  blackness  of  the  pit  yawned  at  his  feet.  In  an 
instant  of  horror  he  saw  the  lonely  years  stretching 
out  before  him  without  this  dear  companion. 

"Lizzie!"  he  hoarsely  cried.  "Come  back  to  me! 
Come  back ! ' ' 

She  rallied  from  her  faint  as  his  warm  arms 
clasped  her.  The  color  stole  back  to  her  cheeks  and 
lips,  her  eyes  opened  naturally,  and  with  a  long,  tired 
breath,  she  rested  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

Dan  trembled  with  the  great  revulsion  of  feeling 
that  shook  him.  "Lizzie!"  he  whispered,  pressing 
his  lips  to  hers  for  the  first  time  in  three  long  months, 
his  pulse  bounding  at  the  loved  touch.  "Lizzie!  Liz 
zie!  You  shan't  suffer  no  more!" 

Weakly  she  lifted  her  white,  thin  hand  and  laid  it 
on  his  neck,  a  look  of  infinite  content  stealing  into  her 
brown  eyes. 

"Do  you  mean,  Dan,  you  're  goin'  to  give  your 
self  up  again?" 

"Yes,  I  do!  Lizzie.  There  fur  a  minute  I  thought 
you  was  a  corp !  And  my  sins  opened  up  before  me 
that  clear— I  seen  it  was  me  killed  you  if  you  was 
dead!" 

Her  arm  clasped  his  neck  in  passionate  joy. 

149 


Mrs.  Holzapple's  Convictions 

"And  are  you  willin'  now  to  take  the  other  half  of 
the  blame,  Dan?" 

"Yes,  I  am!  I  '11  go  this  self -same  day  and  be 
made  satisfied  with  all  my  enemies,  Lizzie.  And  I  '11 
get  you  a  bottle  of  the  Compound. ' ' 

"O  Dan,  I  don't  need  no  Compound  to  make  me 
well  now ! ' ' 

She  laid  her  cheek  against  his  and  he  pressed  his 
lips  upon  it.  It  was  like  the  days  of  their  courting. 

"I  have  even  more  love  for  you  now,  Lizzie,  than 
what  I  used  to  have,  still,  before  I  give  way ! ' ' 

"Let  's  always  mind  after  this,  Dan,  them  beauti 
ful  words  they  sung  at  our  wedding  out  of  our  hymn- 
book.  Do  you  mind  of  'em,  Dan  ? ' ' 

She  softly  repeated  them : 

* '  '  Bless  their  united  love  and  faith, 
Thus  keep  them  one  in  Thee; 
Temptations  never  let  take  place 
To  make  them  disagree.'  " 


150 


THE  NARROW  ESCAPE  OF 
PERMILLA 


THE   NARROW  ESCAPE 
OF   PERMILLA 


SALLIE 

PERMILLA  had  been  weeding  in  the  garden  when 
Christian,  coming  along,  stopped  at  the  fence 
to  speak  to  her.  She  was  almost  overcome  with 
mingled  confusion  and  delight  at  his  sudden  appear 
ance. 

"Och,  I  ain't  combed!"  she  apologetically  said, 
smoothing  her  hair.  "I  'm  some  stroobly." 

"Well,  you  did  n't  know  7  was  goin'  to  see  you, 
ain't  not,"  jocularly  laughed  Christian,  "or  you  'd 
of  combed  oncet?" 

"Yes,  anyhow,"  shyly  answered  Permilla,  her 
timid  eyes  furtively  meeting  his,  then  drooping  in 
maiden  modesty. 

"She  's  menschen-shy, "  thought  Christian,  with  a 

153 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

complacent  sense  of  his  awe-inspiring  presence  in  his 
" Sunday  suit."  To  be  " menschen-shy "  was  to  be 
morbidly  timid  before  one's  fellow-men.  That  Per 
milla  admired  him  with  an  unspoken  and  hopeless 
passion,  Christian  had  long  been  aware,  and  the  con 
sciousness  gave  him  a  passing  satisfaction  in  its  con 
firmation  of  his  own  good  opinion  of  himself.  Of 
course  poor  little  Permilla,  whose  pop  "rented"  and 
whose  folks  did  not  own  an  acre  of  land,  could  not 
dream  of  aspiring  to  conquer  the  heart  of  so  superior 
and  so  prosperous  a  young  man  as  Christian  Yundt, 
the  idolized  and  indulged  only  child  of  his  parents, 
not  to  mention  two  doting  aunts.  But  that  Permilla 
should  worship  him  in  silence  and  in  despair  was  only 
natural  and  his  due.  Indeed,  how  could  she  help  it? 
Was  his  peer  to  be  found  in  all  the  township— his 
peer  in  looks,  in  worldly  possessions,  in  general  at 
tractiveness?  No  wonder  little  Permilla  languished 
in  secret  for  the  unattainable  height  of  his  favor.  To 
be  sure,  he  graciously  admitted,  he  liked  the  little 
thing:  she  was  a  good,  industrious  girl,  and  of  a  dis 
criminating  judgment  withal,  since  she  admired  him. 
There  were  some  few  people,  Christian  had  discov 
ered,  who  had  not  the  insight  to  recognize  in  him  all 
that  his  parents  and  aunts  saw. 

It  was  Saturday  night,  and  Christian  was  going  to 
"set  up"  with  Sallie  Cougenhauer,  the  only  child  of 

154 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

a  father  who  owned  two  good-sized  farms ;  but  he  did 
not  grudge,  in  passing,  a  few  words  of  kindly  patron 
age  to  Permilla. 

"Are  you  goin'  to  weed  all  evening,  Permilla?" 

"I  have  n't  to;  but  I  'm  goin'  to." 

"Why  are  you,  then,  if  you  have  n't  to?" 

"Well,  I  weed,  still,  till  the  dark  gets  me.  Pop  he 
can't  help  none.  He  's  just  clean  sick,"  she  said 
mournfully.  "He  is  sick  the  whole  week." 

"Ain't  he  no  better  to  what  he  was?"  inquired 
Christian,  with  neighborly  solicitude. 

"No,  he  ain't  so  good.  The  doctor  says  he  won't 
get  well,"  sighed  Permilla.  "Our  hopes  is  all  gone 
fer  him." 

"Too  bad,  too  bad!"  Christian  shook  his  head. 
"Well,  good-by  to  you,  Permilla!  Don't  work  too 
hard!" 

"You  sha'n't,  neither,"  politely  returned  Per 
milla. 

"I  ain't  to  work  too  hard  at  settin'  up,  do  you 
mean?"  demanded  Christian,  with  a  laugh.  "Now, 
Permilla,  if  I  tell  Sallie  you  spoke  that  to  me,  what  '11 
she  say?" 

Christian  laughed  loud  in  huge  enjoyment  of  his 
joke  as  he  swung  away  from  the  fence  and  walked 
on  up  the  road. 

"Poor  little  Permilla!"  he  thought,  with  a  rather 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

tender  compassion.  "She  can't  be  no  shussle  (lazy 
person)  when  her  pop  's  took  and  her  and  Her  mom 
have  all  the  work  to  do  yet.  And,  sure,  no  feller  '11 
want  to  be  marryin'  her,  with  no  aus  styer  (household 
outfit  always  given  to  a  Pennsylvania  Dutch  bride  by 
her  father),  and  her  mom  to  keep  when  she  's  old,  fer 
they  ain't  got  nothin'  in  bank.  And  Permilla  she  's 
a  nice  little  thing ;  it  's  too  bad ! ' ' 

Permilla,  meantime,  leaning  over  the  fence,  watched 
Christian's  stalwart  figure  striding  up  the  road  as 
long  as  it  was  in  sight,  her  mild  eyes  shining  with  a 
soft  fire,  her  young  face  flushed  with  excitement,  and 
her  bosom  heaving  tumultuously. 

"If  we  was  n't  so  poor,"  she  longingly  thought, 
"and  I  could  spend  more  at  the  clo'es  and  fix  myself 
up,  mebbe  Christian  would  travel  with  me  instead  of 
with  Sallie  Cougenhauer. " 

She  drew  a  long  breath  and  tears  stood  in  her  eyes 
as  she  left  the  fence  and  went  back  to  her  weeding. 
She  knew  how  vain  was  her  longing.  Prudence  and 
economy  were  the  gospel  of  the  Pennsylvania  Dutch, 
and  there  were  no  more  ardent  disciples  of  this  gos 
pel  in  all  the  country  than  the  Yundts.  Christian  es 
pecially,  youth  though  he  was,  had  become  noted  in 
the  neighborhood  for  his  extremely  careful  weighing 
of  every  transaction  he  made.  Indeed,  his  shrewd 
ness  in  driving  a  bargain  sometimes  "o'erleaped  it- 

156 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

self"  and  led  to  his  missing  some  good  opportu 
nities. 

As  Christian  went  on  up  the  road  after  leaving 
Permilla,  his  eyes  dwelt  with  satisfaction  upon  the 
goodly  fields  he  was  passing,  all  owned  by  Sallie  Cou- 
genhauer's  father.  Even  his  courting  was  three 
fourths  an  economic  venture  and  only  one  fourth  sen 
timent. 

There  was,  however,  a  lurking  misgiving  in  his 
heart  this  evening.  For  a  whole  month  he  had  been 
"keeping  comp'ny"  with  Sallie,  and  the  conviction 
had  been  steadily  growing  in  his  mind,  during  all  this 
time,  that  she  was  not  a  "workative-enough  girl"  for 
him. 

"She  'd  mebbe  want  me  to  hire  fer  her  (hire  house 
hold  servants),"  the  uncomfortable  possibility  some 
times  occurred  to  him,  "and  that,"  Christian  firmly 
resolved,  "I  would  n't  do  fer  no  healthy  wife.  Her 
pop  and  mon  's  got  her  some  spoilt. ' ' 

His  having  entered  upon  the  enterprise  of  "keeping 
comp'ny"  with  her,  it  was  a  foregone  conclusion,  ac 
cording  to  the  custom  of  the  neighborhood,  that  he 
would  marry  her.  Matrimony  was  understood  to  be 
the  ultimate  purpose  of  a  man's  going  to  see  a  girl 
every  Saturday  night,  and  his  withdrawal,  after  a 
month  of  such  visiting,  would  have  been  regarded  as 
a  virtual  breach  of  faith.  Therefore  Christian's 

157 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

doubts  as  to  the  entire  worthiness  of  the  object  of  his 
desires  gave  him  some  uneasiness.  What  made  his  un 
certainty  greater  was  the  fact  that  adjoining  the  other 
side  of  his  own  father's  farm  was  the  goodly  estate  of 
Ebenezer  Smucher,  whose  daughter  Eamah  was, 
Christian  knew,  a  much  better  worker  than  Sallie. 
A  better  milker  he  had  never  seen,  or  a  more  rapid 
butter-maker.  She  could  get  up  at  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning  and  have  the  family  wash  "all  through 
till  breakfast  a 'ready."  True,  her  father  had  three 
other  children,  and  so  Kamah's  inheritance  would  not 
be  so  large  as  Sallie 's.  The  question  was,  would  n't 
her  superior  industry  more  than  make  up  for  the 
difference  in  the  landed  dowry? 

Christian  pondered  this  weighty  matter  without 
coming  to  any  conclusion  before  he  reached  Sallie 's 
gate. 

He  knocked  on  the  open  kitchen  door,  and  Sallie 
herself,  with  sleeves  rolled  up  and  wearing  a  big 
apron,  came  forward  to  meet  him. 

"Hello,  Krist!"  she  boisterously  greeted  him. 
"Come  insides.  I  ain't  through  all  yet.  Mom  and 
pop  they  went  aways,  and  the  new  hired  girl  she 
wanted  off  to  go  on  a  funeral  of  a  neighbor  up  her 
way— up  behind  Reading.  So  I  have  to  do  the  sup 
per  work  when  I  have  my  supper  eat.  I  ain't  half 
eat  yet.  I  guess  you  're  eat  a 'ready,  ain't?" 

158 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

"Why,  to  be  sure,  Sallie.     It  's  most  six  o'clock." 

"Won't  you  pick  a  piece?"  she  hospitably  inquired, 
pushing  a  chair  up  to  the  loaded  but  disordered  table. 
"It  ain't  much  here  no  more,  but  mebbe  you  'd  like  to 
taste  our  new  hired  girl's  pear  apple-butter." 

"No;  I  'm  full.  Why  did  n't  you  hurry  and  get 
through  till  I  got  here,  so  we  could  set  up  together?" 

"I  don't  like  to  hurry  still;  I  like  to  do  things  by 
ease. ' ' 

"It  takes  too  long  that  way  to  get  through  oncet." 

"Yes.  If  mom  knew  I  went  so  slow  and  left  you 
see  the  kitchen  so  through-other,"  exclaimed  Sallie, 
"mebbe  she  would  n't  jaw  me!  Ain't  it  looks  in 
here ! ' '  she  cried,  in  evident  enjoyment  of  the  joke  of 
a  visitor's  beholding  her  mother's  usually  neat 
kitchen  in  such  a  plight.  But  Christian  did  not  ap 
preciate  the  humor  of  the  situation  from  her  point  of 
view. 

"Anyhow,  if  you  have  a  hired  girl,"  he  gravely 
reasoned,  "why  do  you  leave  her  have  off?  It  's  for 
her  to  stay  and  do  the  work. ' ' 

"But  she  wanted  to  go  on  her  neighbor's  funeral," 
good-naturedly  answered  Sallie.  "Don't  you  think 
she  has  a  feeling,  too,  like  us?  It  don't  look  nice  if 
we  don't  leave  her  go  on  her  neighbor's  funeral,  Krist. 
Mom  would  n't  half  act  that  way— she  would  n't  half 
tell  her  she  has  n't  the  dare  to  go.  You  know  when 

159 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

a  body  's  mean  that  way  -with  their  hired  girl,  then 
the  people  has  to  talk  right  aways. ' ' 

"If  I  kep'  hired  help,  she  'd  stay  home  and 
work. ' ' 

"Och,  Krist,"  laughed  Sallie,— her  good  nature 
constantly  bubbled  over  in  laughter,— "you  're  just 
some  spited  that  I  'm  not  done  my  work !  But  it 
don 't  take  me  long  no  more  now.  I  '11  just  make  the 
table  cleared  off,  and  then  I  '11  lay  over  my 
dishes  till  to-morrow.  Mom  can  wash  'em  by  the 
cooking  breakfast. ' ' 

"Sallie,"  exclaimed  Krist,  as  the  girl  began  to 
carry  out  this  program  and  scrape  the  plates,  "do  you 
mean  you  're  goin'  to  let  them  dirty  dishes?" 

Such  a  proceeding  was  shocking  to  his  ideas  of  do 
mestic  economy. 

"Och,  yes;  I  often  done  that  way  when  I  did  n't 
feel  for  washin'  'em  up.  Sometimes  I  'd  sooner  set 
and  read  a  book  than  wash  up  my  supper-dishes; 
then  I  just  lay  'em  over  till  morning. ' ' 

Krist  stared  at  her  with  his  most  calculating  and 
unlover-like  expression  of  countenance.  Presently 
he  spoke,  but  his  simple  remark  did  not  reveal  his  in 
ward  state  of  chaos. 

"Readin' !  You  like  to  set  and  read  a  book  still,  do 
you?  That  's  somepin'  I  don't  do— read.  That  's 
somepin'  I  can't  control  myself  to." 

160 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

"I  like  it  now  and  again,  for  a  change  oncet." 

"I  don't  see  no  use  in  it.  It  don't  bring  no  dollars 
in,  nor  it  don 't  help  get  the  work  done. ' ' 

"But  it  's  interesfin',  Krist." 

"Why  is  it  interim'  when  it  ain't  help  in'  you  any 
to  get  along?" 

"Well,  it  's  interestfin'  to  me."  Sallie  flippantly 
dismissed  the  discussion.  "Now,"  she  announced, 
pushing  her  cleared-off  table  against  the  wall,  "I  'm 
done.  Come  on  out  and  leave  me  show  you  my  flow 
ers,  Krist." 

Sal  lie's  flower-garden  was  another  source  of  men 
tal  perturbation  to  Christian.  "What  's  the  use  in 
spendin'  time  plantin'  flowers?"  he  had  often  chilled 
her  enthusiasm  over  her  flowers  by  inquiring.  "You 
can't  eat  them." 

"But  I  like  'em  just  for  nice,  Krist." 

"See  my  shrubs!"  she  ruefully  exclaimed  this 
evening,  as  she  took  his  hand  and  led  him  out  of 
doors.  "They  're  nearly  all  (all  gone)  a 'ready, 
and  it  's  only  the  20th  of  May  yet!  They  're  goin' 
over  so  wonderful  fast!  Here  's  only  one  or  so 
on  the  bush  any  more.  It  spites  me  something 
awful." 

Christian  made  no  comment,  and  her  hand  in  his 
received  no  answering  pressure.  Although  Permilla 
was  entirely  outside  the  possibility  of  his  calculation, 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

he  did  think  of  her  industry  in  her  vegetable-garden 
with  a  private  comparison  between  the  two  girls  that 
boded  ill  for  this  flower-loving  Sallie. 

' '  Our  neighbor  acrost  the  road  he  planted  such  nice 
bulbs  and  wines  and  things, ' '  said  Sallie,  ' '  and  he  has 
such  a  nice  flower-garden.  He  sent  for  his  bulbs  to 
New  York  yet.  Now  think!  And  now  here  he  has 
to  move,  after  bein'  there  only  two  years.  It  's  mean, 
ain't?" 

' '  And  can 't  he  take  along  them  bulbs  he  bought  ? ' ' 

"Why,  no.    Whoever  moves  in  will  have  all." 

"I  could  n't  stand  that,"  exclaimed  Christian. 
"Why,  sooner  'n  some  one  else  would  have  'em  after 
me  payin'  fer  'em  and  doin'  all  the  work,  I  'd  pull 
'em  all  up  and  throw  'em  away." 

"Oh,  Krist!"  laughed  Sallie.  "If  you  ain't  some 
thing  of  a  holy  terror!" 

They  left  the  flower-garden  and  went  to  sit  on  the 
porch. 

When,  an  hour  later,  Sallie 's  parents  returned 
home  in  the  buggy,  Christian  promptly  took  his  leave, 
though  it  was  long  before  his  usual  time  of  saying 
good-night. 

As  he  trudged  along  the  highway  through  the  dark 
ness  he  made  a  Spartan  resolution:  "With  this  here 
Sallie  Cougenhauer  I  don't  travel  no  more." 

Bamah   Smucher   was    a   far   more    "workative" 

l62 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

woman;  of  that  he  was  sure.  He  would  go,  on  the 
next  Saturday  night,  to  "set  up"  with  Ramah. 

That  Sallie  would  grieve  and  the  neighbors  "put 
up  talk"  at  this  unprecedented  turning  from  one  girl 
to  another— a  thing  never  done  in  Zionsville  township 
—Christian  was  well  aware. 

"I  ain't  a-carin',"  he  doggedly  said  to  himself. 
"I  'm  marryin'  to  suit  myself  when  I  marry." 

His  sense  of  his  own  high  value  in  the  matrimonial 
market  made  him  feel  but  little  compunction  in  thus 
experimenting  with  the  tender  hearts  of  the  girls  of 
Zionsville. 

n 

BAM  AH 

AFTER  a  month's  trial  of  the  charms  of  Ebenezer 
Smucher's  daughter  Ramah  (so  named  after  the 
memorable  city  of  Scripture  in  which  was  heard  ' '  Ra 
chel  weeping  for  her  children"),  Christian  clenched 
the  matter,  at  least  in  the  eyes  of  his  neighbors  and  of 
Ramah,  by  inviting  her  to  go  to  town  to  the  county 
fair.  His  injudiciousness  in  thus  rashly  binding 
himself  before  feeling  entirely  sure  of  his  own  mind 
concerning  Ramah— whom,  indeed,  he  found  rather 
tame  and  bloodless  after  buxom  and  boisterous  Sallie 
Cougenhauer— gave  him,  when  it  was  too  late,  some 

163 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

uneasiness.  But  he  was  anxious  to  attend  the  county 
fair  himself,  and  while  he  was  "keeping  comp'ny" 
with  Ramah  he  could  not  decently  go  without  her. 
His  only  safe  course  would  be,  he  well  knew,  to  stay 
at  home  himself;  but  that  was  a  sacrifice  he  was  not 
willing  to  make. 

"I  'd  take  more  enjoyment  if  it  was  Sallie  going 
with,"  he  rather  regretfully  thought.  "Ramah, 
she  's  so  quiet.  But,"  he  comforted  himself,  "Ra 
mah  's  a  more  workative  girl  than  what  Sallie  is. ' ' 

But  one  serious  objection  to  Ramah  was  that  she 
seemed  so  unimpressed  by  the  honor  of  his  attentions 
to  her.  "A  fellow  wants  to  be  made  of  by  his  girl. 
Ramah  she  don't  never  make  much." 

Even  his  munificence  in  offering  to  escort  her  to  the 
fair  met  with  a  lukewarm  reception. 

"Look  at  here,  Ramah;  I  'm  takin'  you  to  the  fair 
Mondays,"  he  had  magnificently  said  as  they  sat  to 
gether  on  the  front  porch  on  Saturday  evening,  Chris 
tian  in  his  Sunday  suit  and  Ramah  in  a  gorgeous  gown 
of  red  sateen  trimmed  with  narrow  black  velvet.  Chris 
tian  admired  Ramah 's  Oriental  taste  for  splendor  of 
color,  though  he  felt  some  misgivings,  now  and  then, 
at  her  evident  fondness  for  dress. 

"It  must  cost  expensive  to  buy  them  clo'es,"  was 
his  troubled  doubt. 

"I  was  goin'  to  work  on  the  field,  fair-day,"  Ra 
mah  objected.  "I  don't  know  if  I  could  go  with." 

164 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

"You  better  had,  Ramah,"  Christian  urged.  "It  's 
nice  at  the  fair.  You  can  see  a  good  bit  of  people 
you  never  seen  before.  If  you  don't  feel  for  walkin' 
round,  you  can  just  set  in  the  buggy  and  look  at  'em. ' ' 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered  without  enthusiasm, 
"if  pop  11  want  me  to  let  the  work.  He  might  mebbe 
say  he  won't  do  it  to  leave  me  go." 

"You  can  work  all  morning.  We  ain't  got  no  need 
to  start  early.  Not  till  it  gets  two  o'clock  a 'ready  we 
start." 

"Will  we  get  home  till  six  o'clock,  in  time  for  me 
to  milk?"  Ramah  anxiously  asked. 

"Yes,"— Christian  nodded  approvingly,  a  warm 
glow  about  his  heart  at  her  zeal  for  her  domestic  du 
ties,— "it  gets  no  later  than  six  till  we  're  home.  You 
want  to  go,  don't  you,  Ramah?" 

"Why,  yes,"  mildly  responded  Ramah.  "I  would 
n't  care  to."  Which  dubious  form  signified  her  will 
ingness,  not  her  lack  of  it. 

The  appearance  of  her  father  at  this  instant  in  the 
doorway,  his  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up,  his  old  straw  hat 
on  the  back  of  his  big  round  head,  and  a  pipe  hanging 
on  his  thick  red  lips,  gave  them  an  opportunity  to 
complete  their  plan. 

' '  Say,  pop,  Krist  he  ast  me  would  I  go  'long  to  the 
county  fair  Mondays.  Have  I  dare  to  go?" 

"Yes,  willingly,"  promptly  answered  Mr.  Smucher, 
tossing  his  head  to  expectorate  across  the  lawn. 

165 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

Christian  recognized  in  this  ready  permission  the 
satisfaction  with  which  Mr.  Ebenezer  Smucher  con 
templated  the  union  of  his  eldest  daughter  with  so  eli 
gible  a  suitor  as  Christian  Yundt. 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  this  very  event  of  go 
ing  to  town  to  the  fair,  which  promised  so  well  for 
Ramah's  matrimonial  prospects,  proved  her  undo 
ing. 

"I  think  it  can't  be  I  'm  goin'  to  town  oncet,"  said 
Ramah,  as,  on  the  following  Monday,  Christian  helped 
her  ' '  on  the  buggy. "  ' '  It  is  five  weeks  since  I  was  on 
a  buggy." 

"Mebbe  you  stick,  most  too  clost  to  the  work,"  gra 
ciously  suggested  Christian,  as  he  gathered  up  the 
reins  and  his  sleek  mare  started  swiftly  down  the 
road. 

"In  a  sense  of  the  way,  mebbe  I  do,"  granted  Ra 
mah. 

"But  work  's  healthy,"  Christian  hastened  to 
amend  his  suggestion. 

' '  Still,  I  'd  mebbe  be  heartier  if  I  'd  let  the  work  a 
little  now  and  again.  Mom  's  always  sayin',  'Now 
you  done  plenty  enough;  just  let  the  rest  part  of  it.' 
But  I  never  felt  for  stoppin'  till  it  's  all  through 
a 'ready." 

Christian  nodded.  "Hard  workin'  and  clost  savin' 
—that  's  the  way  to  get  along. ' ' 

166 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

"Krist,  I  want  to  take  time,  while  I  'm  in  town, 
to  buy  some  new  dresses  and  a  couple  hats," 
Ramah  said.  "Will  you  drive  me  round  to  the 
stores  ? ' ' 

"Are  you  needin'  some  new  things?  It  seems  like 
you  're  got  a  new  dress  on  every  time  I  see  you,  Ra 
mah.  Now  this  here  dress,"  he  said,  touching  her 
sleeve,  "ain't  it  a  new  one?" 

"No;  I  had  it  four  times  on  a 'ready.  It  only  cost 
me  three  dollars  any  more. ' ' 

"Three  dollars  for  one  dress!"  Christian  almost 
gasped.  "Mom  never  pays  more  'n  one  seventy-five 
or  so ! " 

"I  do  now  like  the  pretty  new  things  to  wear  on 
me, ' '  said  Ramah.  ' '  That  's  why  I  work  so  hard,  so  's 
pop  '11  give  me  plenty  enough  to  dress  with.  Indeed,  I 
could  n't  stand  it  not  to  have  a  new  dress  once  in  so 
often,  and  a  new  hat  to  match." 

Here  was  a  confirmation,  from  Ramah 's  own  lips, 
of  the  fear  which  had  frequently  cooled  Christian's 
ardor  in  making  love  to  her.  An  extravagant  love  of 
finery  was  her  weakness.  It  was  a  shock  to  his  feel 
ings  to  hear  her  so  frankly  acknowledge  it. 

"Will  you  take  me  to  the  stores,  Krist?" 

"We  won't  have  much  time  at  the  fair  if  we  go  to 
the  stores,"  Christian  answered  without  cordiality. 

"I   'd  sooner  miss  the  fair  than  my  buyin'  my 

167 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

new  things.  Pop  give  me  five  dollars  to  spend 
yet." 

"I  don't  know  where  the  stores  is  at,"  Christian 
objected. 

"Well,  /  do,"  promptly  affirmed  Ramah,  with  a 
note  of  persistency  in  her  cold  little  voice  which 
struck  Christian  with  surprise,  for  it  suggested  a 
quite  unconquerable  obstinacy  in  a  character  which 
he  had  felt,  without  so  defining  it  in  his  own  mind,  to 
be  wholly  negative.  "I  know  Lebanon  eighteen 
years  now,  and  I  can  show  you  where  the  stores  is  at, 
Krist.  I  don't  miss  myself  in  town." 

This  was  the  introduction  to  an  uncomfortable 
afternoon  for  Christian.  Instead  of  sitting  in  his 
buggy  viewing  the  passing  crowds  on  the  fair 
grounds,  eating  peanuts  and  squandering  an  occa 
sional  dime  on  a  side-show,  he  was  dragged,  an  un 
willing  victim,  from  milliner's  to  dry-goods  store  and 
back  to  milliner's,  witnessing  the  while,  with  keen 
discomfort,  the  quite  reckless  extravagance  of  his  girl 
in  indulging  her  taste  in  ribbons,  laces,  and  other 
furbelows. 

"They  sell  ice-cream  here,"  Ramah  hinted  to  him 
as  they  were  passing  through  the  aisles  of  the  depart 
ment-store.  An  essential  feature  of  the  festivity  of 
bringing  a  girl  to  town  was  treating  her  to  ice-cream. 

"Do  they?"  dully  responded  Christian.    He  had 

168 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

seen  a  sign  at  the  door,  "Ice-cream,  a  dollar  a  gal." 
"I  ain't  payin'  a  dollar  for  my  gal,"  he  resolved. 

"We  '11  look  a  little  furder,  Ramah,"  he  told  her. 
' '  I  don 't  like  this  here  place. ' ' 

"But  it  's  a  good  place,  Krist,  and  I  'm  wonderful 
empty.  Let  's  set  awhile  here  and  eat  our  ice 
cream." 

"I  ain't  stoppin'  here  fer  no  ice-cream,"  shortly 
answered  Christian. 

"Why  not,  Krist?" 

"I  like  Beitel's  better.  That  's  where  I  always 
go." 

"I  don't  like  Beitel's  near  as  good  as  what  I  do 
this  here.  Come  on,  Krist.  1  'm  havin'  my  ice-cream 
here,  anyhow!" 

She  walked  on  ahead  of  him,  and  there  was  noth 
ing  he  could  do  but  follow  her,  which  he  did  with  a 
swelling  rage  in  his  heart  at  the  prospect  of  paying 
a  dollar  for  the  treat. 

When,  however,  he  found,  to  his  immense  relief, 
that  the  sign  at  the  door  was  a  mistake  and  that  he 
had  to  pay  only  twenty  cents  for  the  two  biggest  ten- 
cent  saucers  of  ice-cream  he  had  ever  seen,  he  waxed 
quite  jovial  and  affectionate  in  the  reaction  of  his 
feelings ;  so  much  so  that  on  coming  up  from  the  base 
ment  cafe  on  the  elevator,  he  turned  to  the  boy  who 
ran  the  machine  and  spoke  to  him  with  cordial  friend- 

169 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

liness:  "Much  obliged  to  you;  come  to  see  us — ain't— 
when  you  come  to  the  country." 

The  boy  grinned  appreciatively  and  winked  at  the 
salesman  who  was  with  him  on  the  elevator. 

"Did  you  see  how  pleased  he  was  that  I  told  him  to 
come  to  see  us?"  Krist  asked  as  he  drew  Ramah's 
hand  through  his  arm  and  walked  with  her  out  of  the 
store. 

But  his  good  nature  was  not  permitted  to  last  very 
long.  As  they  went  down  the  street,  Ramah  saw  in  a 
shop-window  a  red  belt  and  chatelaine,  marked  sev 
enty-five  cents,  which  instantly  her  vanity  coveted. 

"My  money  's  all,"  she  told  Christian.  "Will  you 
leave  me  borry  the  loan  of  seventy-five  cents  off  of 
you,  Krist?  I  '11  pay  it  back  to  you  as  soon  as  I 
otherwise  (possibly)  can." 

Christian  turned  red  with  embarrassment.  He 
ought  to  offer  to  make  her  a  present  of  it,  he  knew, 
but  his  frugal  soul  shrank  from  "spending  any"  on 
such  a  useless  bauble.  If  it  were  only  something  for 
their  future  housekeeping,  now,  he  would  not  feel  so 
reluctant.  But  a  lurid  red  belt  and  bag— where  was 
the  prudence  or  sense  in  squandering  hard-earned 
money  on  such  a  thing? 

"Leave  me  buy  you  something  more  usefuler,  Ra 
mah." 

' '  Them  's  useful  enough.    They  just  match  my  red 

17O 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

dress,"  Ramah  answered,  with  that  mild  persistency 
of  hers  which  Christian  was  beginning  to  find  most 
irritating. 

"You  spend  everything  at  the  clo'es,  Ramah!"  he 
rebuked  her. 

"Will  you  leave  me  borry  the  loan  of  seventy-five 
off  of  you,  Krist?"  she  repeated. 

"Leave  me  buy  you  such  a  ninety-nine  cent  store 
clock,"  Christian  suggested. 

"All  right.  But  will  you  leave  me  borry  the  loan 
of  them  seventy-five  ? '  * 

"Would  you  sooner  have  that  there  bag  and  belt 
than  a  clock,  where  's  so  useful?"  he  demanded. 

"I  ain't  astin'  you  to  give  me  a  present  of  this  here 
belt  and  bag.  I  'm  only  astin'  you  to  leave  me  lend 
the  price  of  it  off  of  you.  Will  you?" 

"Well,  if  you  think  your  pop  won't  say  I  had  n't 
ought  to  have  left  you  spend  so,"  Christian  rather 
shamefacedly  consented. 

They  had  occupied  so  much  time  in  the  shops  that 
there  was  not  much  left  for  the  fair. 

On  the  drive  home  Christian  was  low-spirited  and 
had  not  much  to  say;  but  Ramah 's  whole  personality 
exhaled  her  deep  but  quiet  satisfaction  in  the  pur 
chases  she  was  taking  home. 

"Do  you  think,  Ramah,  that  when  you  're  married 
oneet,  you  'd  be  wantin'  to  spend  everything  at  the 

171 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

clo'es?"  Christian  rather  sullenly  asked  of  her,  when 
they  had  ridden  for  a  long  space  in  silence. 

* '  If  I  could  n  't  spend  at  the  clo  'es  after  I  was  mar 
ried,  I  would  n't  be  much  for  gettin'  married,"  qui 
etly  answered  Ramah. 

Christian  gave  his  mare  a  cut  with  the  whip  which 
sent  her  bounding  along  on  the  road  at  her  greatest 
speed. 

Ramah  gasped.  "Well,  Krist,  but  you  are!"  she 
mildly  reproved  him. 

"I  don't  see,"  growled  Christian,  "how  you  ever 
can  wear  out  so  many  dresses  still. ' ' 

"Well,  when  I  overgrow  my  clo'es  or  get  tired  of 
'em  still,  I  give  'em  to  my  little  sister  where  ain't 
outgrown  yet,  and  she  fits  'em." 

"And  if  we  was  married,"  Christian  burst  forth, 
his  feelings  getting  the  better  of  his  prudence,  "would 
you  think  I  'd  buy  you  clo'es  to  give  over  to  your  sis 
ter  ?  Well,  I  'd  see  myself,  Ramah  Smucher!" 

"You  ain't  never  ast  me  straight  out  would  I 
marry  you,  Krist,"  Ramah  gently  suggested. 

Christian  suddenly  found  himself  in  a  tight  corner. 
He  moved  uneasily  in  his  seat  and  swallowed  hard. 
For  a  moment  the  only  sound  which  broke  the  em 
barrassing  silence  between  them  was  the  stamp  of  the 
mare's  hoofs  on  the  road. 

"The  road  's  nice  for  drivin'  this  evening,  ain't!" 

172 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

he  presently  said  in  a  rather  feeble  voice.  "Last  time 
I  was  on  the  buggy  it  was  so  muddy  I  could  n't  drive 
through  any  more." 

Ramah  made  no  answer.  Christian  realized  un 
comfortably  what  impatience  she  must  feel  with  him 
for  so  signally  failing  to  rise  to  her  bait. 

"You  ain't  so  young  yet,  neither,  Rarnah,"  he  said 
defensively — ' '  about  twenty- two. ' ' 

Ramah  was  silent. 

"Ain't  you  about  twenty-two?" 

"I  have  objections  of  telling,"  stiffly  answered 
Ramah. 

"Well,  it  don't  matter  anything,"  conceded  Chris 
tian. 

"Then  what  did  you  bring  it  up  for?" 

"Well,"  stammered  this  "truthful  James,"  "I 
want  to  show  that  mebbe  I  had  my  reasons,  too,  for 
hesitatin'." 

"Krist,"  Ramah  said  pathetically,  "it  's  hard  work 
makes  me  look  some  older  to  what  I  am.  I  'm 
workin'  early  and  late  still,  and  you  know  that  makes 
somepin '  at  the  looks. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Christian,  a  little  mollified. 

The  rest  of  the  drive  passed  without  any  further 
discord;  but  when,  at  six  o'clock,  they  reached  the 
Smucher  farm,  Christian  had  the  prudence  to  decline 
to  come  in  to  supper,  for  he  was  convinced  that  he  had 

173 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

already  gone  too  far  with  Ramah  unless  he  was  sure 
he  meant  to  marry  her. 

Ramah  was  evidently  chagrined  at  his  firm  refusal 
to  her  urgent  invitation. 

"Are  you  spited  at  me,  Krist,  for  somepin'?"  she 
asked  as  she  stood  at  the  gate  while  he  held  the  bridle, 
ready  to  get  into  the  buggy  again  after  having  helped 
her  out  and  given  her  bundles  to  her  brother,  who  had 
come  out. 

"No,"  answered  Christian.  "I  '11  wait  here,  Ra 
mah,  while  you  get  that  seventy-five  cents  off  your 
pop." 

"I  can  give  that  to  you  when  you  come  over  next 
Saturday  evening  to  set  up  with  me. ' ' 

"All  right,"  Krist  agreed;  but  as  he  jumped  into 
his  buggy  he  made  a  swift  mental  calculation.  He 
had  fortunately  forgotten  to  hand  out,  with  the  other 
bundles,  the  ninety-nine  cent  store  clock  which  he  had 
bought  her,  and  he  now  determined  that  until  he  got 
that  seventy-five  cents  which  she  owed  him  he  would 
not  give  up  the  clock. 

"Good-by,  Ramah,"  he  hastily  said,  gathering  up 
his  reins  quickly ;  and  before  she  could  answer  him  his 
mare  had  responded  to  the  slap  of  the  reins  and  was 
dashing  down  the  road  toward  his  father's  gate. 


174 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 
in 

THE  RETURN  TO  SALLIE 

AFTER  duly  weighing  the  matter,  Christian  decided 
that  Sallie  Cougenhauer's  idleness  was  not  quite  so 
grave  a  drawback  to  matrimony  as  was  Ramah 
Smucher's  extravagance  in  dress.  He  would  return 
to  Sallie. 

"She  's  anyways  better  company,"  thought  Chris 
tian,  with  satisfaction. 

He  knew  that  his  desertion  of  Sallie  for  Ramah  had 
made  both  hm  and  Sallie  the  subjects  of  unpleasant 
comment  in  the  neighborhood.  His  attentions  to  Ra 
mah  had  gone  even  further  than  those  to  Sallie,  but 
he  hoped  that  his  virtue  in  returning  to  Sallie  would 
counteract  the  effect  of  what  he  realized  would  be  con 
sidered  his  dastardly  behavior  in  giving  up  Ramah 
after  having  actually  taken  her  to  the  county  fair. 

"It  's  a  difference  in  girls,  too,"  he  heavily  pon 
dered  as  he  made  his  way  one  Saturday  evening, 
three  weeks  after  the  trip  to  the  fair,  to  the  Cougen- 
hauer  farm.  "A  body  would  n't  of  thought  it  could 
be  such  a  difference  in  girls  as  what  there  is." 

He  had,  of  course,  allowed  a  decent  interval  of  time 
between  his  desertion  of  Ramah  and  his  return  to 
Sallie. 

175 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

He  did  not  feel  very  much  embarrassed  at  the  idea 
of  facing  Sallie  after  his  season  of  unfaithfulness. 
"She  '11  be  wonderful  glad  to  see  me  again,"  was  his 
confident  thought,  feeling  at  the  same  time  a  pang  of 
pity  for  poor  lonely,  deserted  Ramah. 

"I  '11  ast  Sallie  to  come  walk  on  the  cemetery,  and 
I  '11  ast  her  right  aways  to  pass  me  her  promise  to  get 
married  as  soon  as  she  otherwise  can. ' ' 

His  pleasant  contemplation  of  Sallie 's  gratified  sur 
prise  in  this  unexpected  good  fortune  made  his  walk 
across  the  fields  very  short  indeed. 

What,  then,  was  his  chagrin  to  find  Sallie  seated  on 
the  front  porch  with  Ramah 's  brother  Ebenezer,  the 
whole  aspect  and  attitude  of  the  two  manifesting  the 
unmistakable  fact  that  they  were  ' '  keeping  comp  'ny. ' ' 

He  quickly  reflected,  however,  that  Sallie  must 
.surely  prefer  to  take  him  back  if  she  got  the  chance, 
rather  than  marry  Ebenezer,  who  was  one  of  four 
children,  while  he,  Christian,  was  the  only  son  of  the 
richest  farmer  of  the  township.  So  he  boldly  opened 
the  gate  and  walked  up  to  the  pair  on  the  porch.  He 
could  see  the  laughter  in  Sallie 's  eyes  and  the  broad 
grin  on  Ebenezer 's  mouth  as  he  drew  near;  but  in  a 
few  minutes,  he  felt  confident,  Ebenezer  would  Be 
laughing  "on  the  other  side  of  his  face,"  for  Chris 
tian  meant  to  settle  without  any  delay  the  question  as 
to  which  of  them  Sallie  would  have. 

176 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

"Well,  Sallie!"  he  greeted  her  as  he  stood  at  the 
porch  steps.  ' '  Well,  Ebenezer ! ' ' 

"Well,  Krist!"  they  both  answered. 

"I  thought  I  'd  come  over  oncet,  Sallie." 

"Did  you  want  to  see  pop  and  mom,  Krist?"  jo 
cosely  asked  Sallie. 

"No;  I  come  to  see  you." 

"Did  you,  now?"  Sallie  asked,  raising  her  eyes  in 
mock  astonishment.  "What  's  your  urrand,  Krist?" 

"It  ain't  no  urrand.     I  come  to  set  up." 

Sallie 's  brows  went  up  a  bit  higher.  "Why,  I 
thought  you  was  settin'  up  Saturdays  with  Ramah 
Smucher!  I  heard  it  put  out  that  you  took  her  to 
the  fair  Mondays  three  weeks  back." 

"I  guess,"  said  Christian,  feeling  awkward  in  the 
presence  of  Ramah 's  brother,  "me  and  Ramah  seen 
we  'd  made  a  mistake." 

"Like  what  me  and  you  seen  we  'd  made,  Krist?" 

"I  feel  now,  Sallie,  I  never  made  no  mistake  in 
comin*  to  see  you.  And,"  he  boldly  announced, 
"I  've  came  back." 

"And  that  's  your  second  mistake,  Krist.  And, 
you  know,  a  mistake  is  no  haystack  or  everyone  would 
have  a  cow." 

"Sallie,  I  tell  you  right  now  I  don't  feel  I  'm 
makin'  no  mistake  this  time.  I  pass  you  my 
promise. ' ' 

177 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

"You  think  you  was  mistaken  in  thinkin'  you  was 
mistaken?"  laughed  Sallie.  "But  /  don't  think  I 
was  mistaken,  Krist,  when  I  preferred  Ebenezer  to 
you.  Me  and  Ebenezer  's  promised  this  two  weeks 
a 'ready." 

"But  you  dare  have  me,  Sallie,"  heartily  urged 
Christian,  his  zeal  in  his  quest  getting  the  better  of 
his  compassion  for  Ebenezer.  "Ebenezer  he  knows  I 
had  first  chancet,  and  he  has  the  right  to  give  you 
back  to  me." 

Sallie  threw  back  her  pretty  head  and  screamed 
with  laughter,  and  Ebenezer  joined  her  with  a  shout 
of  mirth,  the  occasion  of  which  Christian  could  not 
see. 

"Dare  I  have  you,  Krist?"  Sallie  chokingly  asked. 

"Yes,  willingly." 

"Well,  Krist,  I  'm  much  obliged.  But  you  dare 
n't  have  me." 

"Is  it  you  're  afraid  of  makin'  Ebenezer  mad, 
Sallie?" 

"It  's  that  I  don't  want  you." 

1 '  Is  it  you  want  to  be  coaxed  that  way,  Sallie  ? ' ' 

"Coaxin'  would  n't  do  you  no  good,  Krist." 

"You  know  how  good  fixed  I  am — better  'n  Eben 
ezer.  ' ' 

"If  you  was  hung  with  gold  dollars  and  Ebenezer 
was  in  rags,  I  'd  take  him." 

178 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

Christian  stared  at  her,  his  eyes  bulging.  "What 
fer,  Sallie?"  he  asked,  in  genuine  wonder. 

"Because,"  spoke  up  Ebenezer,  "I  'ma  man  and 
not  a  pig." 

"Och,  you  're  just  mad  that  I  ain't  settin'  up  with 
Ramah  no  more,"  retorted  Christian.  "But  she 
spends  everything  at  the  clo'es." 

"Well,"  cried  Ebenezer,  "the  people  says  your 
folks  is  so  mean  that  when  they  set  down  to  eat, 
they  're  so  fer  savin',  they  won't  eat  theirselves 
done." 

"Sallie,"— Christian  turned  to  appeal  to  her,— "is 
it  that  you  want  to  be  coaxed?" 

"Krist,  I  said  I  was  promised  to  Ebenezer.  But 
if  I  was  n't  promised  to  no  one,  I  would  n't  marry 
you.  It  's  like  what  Ebenezer  says:  you  ain't  no 
man,  Krist.  I  pity  you,— you  're  a  poor  body,— but 
I  ain  't  marryin '  you  for  my  pity. ' ' 

Christian  could  hardly  believe  his  ears.  He  was,  in 
the  eyes  of  her  whom  he  meant  to  honor  with  his 
name,  "a  poor  body,"  the  object  of  her  pity! 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Sallie." 

"Go  home  and  sleep  on  it,"  suggested  Ebenezer. 
"Mebbe  till  morning  a 'ready  you  '11  take  a  tumble  to 
yourself. ' ' 

"Sallie,  I  ast  you  now,  for  the  last  time,  will  you 
come  walk  on  the  cemetery  and  let  's  settle  this  here!" 

179 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

"I  ain't  got  nothin'  to  talk  out  with  you,  Krist. 
I  'm  promised  to  Ebenezer." 

"I  '11  give  you  one  more  chancet.  Are  you  comin'? 
Or  I  '11  go  right  down  back  to  Ramah  this  here  night. ' ' 

Again  Ebenezer  and  Sallie  shouted  with  laughter. 

"Ramah  's  out  buggy-ridin'  with  Jake  Gochen- 
hauer.  He  's  been  her  steady  comp'ny  since  the  first 
Saturdays  you  did  n't  go  over  to  set  up  with  her," 
Sallie  informed  him. 

"And  if  you  go  tryin'  to  sneak  back  to  her," 
threatened  Ebenezer,  "it  won't  take  pop  long  to  tell 
you  to  go  right  straight  on  off." 

"Yes,  anyhow,"  warmly  assented  Sallie.  "I  guess! 
Why,  Krist,  you  're  wonderful  dumn  (stupid), 
thinkin'  a  girl  would  take  you  back  after  your  actin' 
like  what  you  acted  by  Ramah." 

"Well,  she  knows  now  it  was  a  good  riddance," 
said  Ebenezer. 

"Yes,  anyhow,"  responded  Sallie,  with  as  much  in 
dignation  as  her  abundant  good  nature  could  muster. 

Christian,  his  brain  dizzy  with  a  set  of  impressions 
of  himself  and  others  too  novel  to  be  quickly  digested, 
turned  away  and  walked  back  to  the  gate. 


ISO 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

IV 

PERMILLA 

CHRISTIAN  was  humbled,  but  not  crushed.  After  a 
few  days  of  bewildered  wonder  at  the  unlooked-for 
turn  which  events  had  taken,  he  rallied  sufficiently 
to  plan  a  signal  revenge  upon  his  enemies  and 
detractors.  He  would  "spite"  them  both— Sallie 
and  Ramah— by  straightway  marrying  Permilla 
Gumpf ! 

He  almost  gasped  at  his  own  rashness  as  he  set 
about  carrying  out  this  plan.  Permilla 's  father  had 
died  two  months  before,  and  had  left  his  wife  and 
four  children  without  any  support.  Permilla  and 
her  mother  would  have  to  slave  day  and  night  to 
make  their  rented  farm  pay  expenses  and  keep  them 
from  starving.  Christian  knew  that  if  he  married 
Permilla,  he  would  be  expected  to  do  something  for 
her  mother  and  little  brothers  and  sisters  to  "help 
along."  Nevertheless,  he  did  not  falter  in  his  pur 
pose.  He  had  always  liked  Permilla.  She,  at 
least,  could  appreciate  what  a  good  thing  she  was  get 
ting,  which  was  what  Sallie  and  Ramah  seemed  inca 
pable  of  doing.  And  she  had  the  virtues,  he  knew, 
which  each  of  the  other  girls  lacked:  she  was  as  in 
dustrious  as  Sallie  was  idle  and  as  economical  as  Ra- 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

mah  was  extravagant.  These  two  extenuating  cir 
cumstances,  together  with  her  profound  and  just  ad 
miration  of  himself,— for  Christian  had  long  enjoyed 
the  pleasing  consciousness  of  Permilla 's  evident 
though  unexpressed  passion  for  him, — made  him 
overlook  her  poverty  and  the  humble  station  of  the 
Gumpfs  as  "renters." 

So  when  on  the  next  Saturday  night,  clad  in  his 
Sunday  suit,  he  walked  up  the  road  to  the  Gumpfs' 
rented  farm,  he  quite  swelled  with  the  delightful  an 
ticipation  of  seeing  Permilla  overwhelmed  with  grat 
itude  and  happiness  at  his  condescension. 

' '  I  can  love  her  better  'n  I  could  ever  of  loved  either 
of  them  other  two,"  he  told  himself. 

He  met  Permilla  before  he  reached  her  door.  She 
was  gathering  early  apples  in  the  orchard  a  little  dis 
tance  from  the  house.  He  observed,  as  he  jumped 
the  fence  and  walked  toward  her,  that  she  was  dressed 
as  he  had  never  seen  her  before:  her  gown  was  new, 
well-fitting  and  pretty,  and  she  wore  a  most  fetching 
hat  instead  of  the  sunbonnet  usually  on  her  head.  He 
marveled  at  this  unexpected  change  in  her  appear 
ance.  He  knew  he  had  never  before  seen  her  look  so 
pretty,  and  he  was  sure  she  was  a  great  deal  better- 
looking  than  either  Sallie  or  Ramah. 

She  stopped  her  work  and  looked  up  in  surprise  as 
he  came  toward  her. 

l82 


The  Narrow  Escape'  of  Permilla 

"Well,  Permilla!" 

"Why,  Krist!" 

"How  are  you  this  evening?" 

"7  'm  pretty  good.  How  's  yourself,  Krist  f" 

"I  'm.  pretty  good,  too.  Are  you  busy  this  even 
ing?" 

' '  Och,  no ;  I  'm  just  getting  some  apples  while  I  'm 
— I  'm  waitin'.  Are  you  on  your  way  over  to  Sallie 
Cougenhauer  's,  Krist  ? ' ' 

"No,  Permilla;  I  'm  on  my  way  to  see  you,"  he  re 
assured  her,  with  an  encouraging  smile. 

"Oh!"  said  Permilla,  her  eyes  opening  wide. 
"Then  let  's  go  through  the  orchard  over,  and  come 
insides,  will  you?" 

"Yes;  I  would  n't  care  to." 

"Is  it  so,  Krist,  that  Eamah  Smucher  's  promised 
to  Jake  Gochenhauer  ? "  Permilla 's  gentle  voice  a$ked 
as  they  walked  through  the  orchard. 

"I  don't  know,"  shortly  answered  Christian. 
"You  're  lookin'  wonderful  good  this  evening,  Per 
milla.  You  're  some  stouter." 

"Yes;  I  'm  takin'  on  speck  (fat),  mom  says." 

Christian  wondered  that  the  death  of  her  father 
should  have  agreed  so  well  with  her  health.  He  had 
expected  to  find  her  pale  and  wan  and  worn  out ;  but 
he  had  never  seen  her  so  blooming. 

"That  's  a  pretty  hat  you  're  wearin'  on  yourself, 

183 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

Permilla.  Did  you  get  it  a  present?"  he  curiously 
inquired. 

"No;  I  just  got  it  so — to  wear  on  pop's  funeral, 
you  know.  It  's  just  my  old  hat  fixed  around.  It 
had  such  red  currants  on  it,  and,  to  be  sure,  that 
would  n't  suit  on  a  funeral,  and  I  sayed  to  mom,  'I 
want  to  wear  myself  that  looks  a  little  according — 
no  such  red  currants,'  I  sayed.  So  I  ast  Ramah 
Smucher  would  she  please  and  take  my  hat  to  town 
when  she  is  going  two  days  before  the  funeral.  Well, 
don't  you  think,  Krist,  she  took  it  with — and  then 
when  she  come  home  she  did  n't  have  it  along,  and  the 
day  after  to-morrow  was  the  funeral  yet.  I  was  so 
sick  she  has  n  't  got  my  hat  when  she  come  from  town ! 
And  then  Abe  he  went  in  special  and  fetched  it.  And 
it  looks  so  nice ;  the  people  on  the  funeral  don't  believe 
on  me  it  's  my  old  hat  fixed  around.  I  can 't  tell  right 
what  these  here  flowers  on  it  is, ' '  she  added  dubiously. 
"White  daisies  or  narcissus— what  is  it?" 

"What  did  it  cost  you  to  have  it  fixed  around?" 
speculatively  asked  Christian. 

"One  thirty-nine,"  answered  Permilla;  "and  it  's 
as  good  as  new. ' ' 

"Who  's  Abe?"  Christian  inquired. 

"Oh,"  blushed  Permilla,  "Abe  he  's— why,  he  's 
AEe  Schwarz  that  lives  at  Klupp's  Church  over." 

"Was  it  him  brought  your  hat  with?" 

184 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

' '  Yes, ' '  briefly  answered  Permilla.  ' '  You  must  n  't 
mind  the  way  things  is  tore  up  at  our  house, 
Krist,"  she  abruptly  changed  the  subject.  "We  're 
repairing  up  the  house  and  barn,  and  it  gives  such  a 
dirt." 

Christian  stared  at  her  in  astonishment.  "You  're 
repairin'  up  the  house  and  barn?"  he  repeated  in 
credulously. 

"Yes;  we  're  pretty  good  fixed  now,  Krist.  When 
pop  died,  his  brother,  my  uncle  Adam  Gumpf,  came 
from  Alaska  home,  and  he  give  mom  some  money  to 
live  on." 

Christian's  face  beamed  as  he  turned  it  upon  Per 
milla. 

"Then  your  mom  can  buy  you  a  aus  styer  yet,  ain't 
— when  you  get  married  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,"  eagerly  answered  Permilla. 

"Them  's  pretty  beads  you  're  wearin'  on  your 
self,  Permilla.  Does  the  locket  come  open?  Mebbe  I 
might  give  you  a  wisp  of  my  hair  to  put  in — ain't?" 

Permilla  hastily  covered  the  trinket  with  her  little 
brown  hand.  "It  's  so  funny  to  open,  Krist;  I  don't 
try,  still,  to  open  it." 

"Permilla,"— Christian  took  her  small  hand  in  his 
big  clumsy  one  as  they  slowly  strolled  through  the 
orchard,— "the  first  house  that  's  getting  empty  I  'm 
renting." 

185 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

"Are  you  gettin'  married  too,  Krist?" 

'-Yes,  Permilla,"  he  answered,  pressing  the  hand  he 
held. 

"Who  to,  Krist?"  Permilla  inquired  drawing  away 
her  hand. 

"A  girl  that  lives  wonderful  clost  by,"  facetiously 
answered  Krist,  reaching  to  take  her  hand  again ;  but 
she  held  it  out  of  his  reach. 

"Is  it  Sallie  Cougenhauer ? " 

"No;  it  ain't  Sallie  Cougenhauer.  Guess  again, 
Permilla!" 

"If  it  ain't  Ramah  or  Sallie,  I  don't  know  who 
ever." 

"There  's  somebody  better  'n  either  of  them  two, 
Permilla!" 

"Livin'  clost  by?"  wonderingly  asked  Permilla. 

"As  clost  as  she  otherwise  could  live." 

"Why,  Krist!  there  ain't  no  girl  livin'  nearer  than 
Sallie  and  Ramah." 

"There  's  yourself,  Permilla!" 

Christian  gazed  at  her  in  triumph  and  shouted  with 
laughter. 

"You  're  goin'  to  be  my  girl,  Permilla.  I  'm  mar- 
ryin'  you.  I  like  you  wonderful  much.  And  I  was 
goin'  to  ast  you  before  I  knowed  your  Uncle  Adam 
was  on  and  give  yous  all  somepin'  to  live  on." 

"But,  Krist—" 

186 


§ 

-f. 


5 

;=- 


B 
g 
3. 
B 
o 

1 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

"How  much  is  it  your  Uncle  Adam  give  yous?" 
"That  's  neither  here  nor  there,  Krist,  because — " 
"I  ain't  changin'  my  mind  any  if  he  don't  give  you 
nothing"  magnificently  declared  Christian.     "I  want 
to  get  married  to  you  right  aways,  no  matter  what 
ever.  ' ' 

"Thank  you,  Krist,  but—" 

' '  How  soon  could  you  get  ready  to  be  married,  Per 
milla?" 

"I  am  ready,  Krist;  I  'm  getting  married—" 
"Would  n't  you  have  to  do  some  sewin'  first?" 
"It  's  all  done.    I  'm  gettin'  married  next  Satur 
days." 

"I  don't  know  if  I  can  make  it  suit  that  quick 
a 'ready,  Permilla;  but  mebbe  till  next  Saturdays  a 
week  a 'ready." 

"I  'm  gettin'  married  next  Saturdays,  Krist." 
"Och,  well,"  said  Christian,  a  little  surprised,  "if 
you  're  so  set  on  Saturdays,  I  guess  I  can  hurry. ' ' 

"I  '11  be  pleased  to  have  your  comp'ny  at  my  wed- 
din',  Krist." 

Christian  laughed  at  the  joke.  "It  would  be  a 
funny  weddin'  without  the  mister,  ain't?  Well,  /  'II 
be  there,  Permilla,"  he  assured  her  jocosely. 

"I  'm  gettin'  married  next  Saturdays  a 'ready  to 
Abe  Schwarz  from  Klupp  's  Church  over, ' '  firmly  and 
clearly  announced  Permilla. 

189 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

Christian  stopped  short  in  the  path  leading  up  to 
the  house  door.  His  face  flamed  red  and  his  small 
eyes  sparkled  like  beads. 

''What  's  that  you  sayed?" 

"I  'm  gettin'  married  to  Abe  Schwarz  from 
Klupp's  Church  over,  next  Saturdays." 

"You  're  promised  to  Abe  Schwarz!" 

"Yes,  Krist" 

Permilla  stood  before  him  in  the  patli  and  looked 
at  him  with  shy  pride. 

"Would  n't  you  ruther  have  me,  Permilla?"  he 
feebly  inquired. 

"I  'm  wonderful  fond  of  Abe,  Krist.  And  he  's 
so  good  fixed— he  '11  make  me  such  a  good  provider. ' ' 

"Yes,"  hoarsely  granted  Christian;  "he  's  wonder 
ful  well  fixed — even  better  'n  me.  Who 'd  o '  thought, " 
he  added,  in  growing  amazement,  "that  Abe  Schwarz 
would  be  makin'  up  to  you?  Why,  he  could  have 
'most  anybody— good  fixed  like  what  he  is  and  so  ed 
ucated  yet !  I  'd  o'  thought  he  would  n't  have  no  one 
But  an  Ann-wille  graduate!" 

"He  'd  ruther  have  me,"  with  humble  pride  an 
swered  Permilla. 

"But,  Permilla,  you  would  of  had  me  of  I  'd  spoke 
soon  enough— ain't  it  so,  you  would?" 

"Well,  Krist,"  she  timidly  answered,  "two  months 
back  a 'ready  I  might  of,  mebbe.  But  I  heard  since 

190 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

how  you  was  so  near  that  way  with  your  money,  and 
how  your  pop  and  mom  was  always  so  good  to  you  and 
did  n't  never  make  you  mind,  but  give  you  every  will, 
and  that  made  you  so  conceity  by  yourself  that  you 
was  n  't  easy  to  live  with  no  more.  And  I  says  to  my 
self,  'Them  things  don't  bring  happiness.'  And  then 
I  did  n 't  think  so  much  about  you  no  more,  Krist,  like 
what  I  used  to  still.  And  then,  to  be  sure,  when  Abe 
begin  to  come  and  keep  comp  'ny  with  me,  I  liked  him 
so  well  and  I  felt  so  wonderful  satisfied  that  nothin' 
else  did  n't  make  nothin'  to  me." 

"Do  you  mean  you  would  n't  have  me  even  if 
you  was  n 't  promised  to  Abe  Schwarz  ? ' '  asked  Chris 
tian,  unsteadily. 

"No,  Krist,  I  would  n't,"  firmly  answered  Per 
milla.  "I  'm  sorry  for  you,  Krist.  I  hope  it  don't 
hurt  you  in  your  feelin's.  But— but  I  took  such  a 
kreistled  (disgusted)  feeling  toward  you." 

Christian  caught  his  breath;  but,  before  he  could 
answer,  Permilla  started  with  a  sudden  exclamation 
as  the  distant  sound  of  buggy  wheels  fell  on  the 
evening  stillness. 

"Och,  here  comes  Abe's  Euggy  the  road  up!  Will 
you  come  in  and  see  him,  Krist,  for  a  minute?" 

"No." 

"Won't  you  wait  and  bid  Ab'e  the  time?" 

"No." 

1Q1 


The  Narrow  Escape  of  Permilla 

Christian  turned  his  back  on  her  and  walked  out 
of  the  gate. 

Permilla  watched  his  broad-shouldered  figure  dis 
appear  into  the  dimness  of  the  long  pike,  feeling  with 
a  great  throbbing  of  her  heart  what  a  different  fate 
would  have  been  hers  if  he  had  asked  her  to  marry 
him  "two  months  back,"  when  her  feelings  toward 
him  had  been  so  different. 

"Abe  Schwarz  will  make  me  so  much  better  a  pro 
vider  and  he  's  so  much  nicer  a  person ! ' '  exultingly 
thought  Permilla. 

And  Christian,  going  home  in  the  summer  twilight, 
fully  realized,  for  the  first  time  in  his  young  man 
hood,  that  the  feminine  mind  held  a  view  of  Christian 
Yundt  and  his  value  in  the  matrimonial  market  quite 
other  than  that  which  he  himself  had  been  falsely 
cherishing  ever  since  the  day  on  which  he  had  first 
touched  a  razor  to  his  sleek,  self-satisfied  countenance. 


192 


THE  COURTING  OF  PEARLY 


THE    COURTING  OF 
PEARLY 


IT  was  beginning  to  be  "put  out"  in  Stumpstown 
that  Pearly  Schwenkf elder  was  "promised"  to 
Adam  Hoofstitler,  and  as  gossip  in  Stumpstown  trav 
eled  fast  it  soon  reached  the  ears  of  even  Simon  Flick, 
who,  though  only  a  young  man  in  his  twenties,  min 
gled  so  little  with  his  fellow  villagers  and  so  strictly 
"minded  to  his  own  business,"  that  much  of  the  vil 
lage  news  was  apt  to  pass  him  by. 

This  item  came  to  Simon  with  a  sharp  sting. 

He  found  it  impossible,  the  afternoon  that  he  heard 
the  news,  to  work  in  his  blacksmith  shop.  With  what 
appeared  to  his  apprentice  an  alarming  recklessness, 
he  announced,  an  hour  after  his  return  to  the  shop, 
that  he  was  going  out  for  a  while  and  would  leave  the 
apprentice  alone  in  charge  of  the  business ;  and  then, 
flinging  himself  outdoors,  he  strode  down  the  road 
as  fast  as  his  slightly  lame  foot  would  allow  him  to  go. 

To  know  that  Pearly  was  "promised"  to  another 

195 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

man  was  anguish  enough.  But  to  know  that  the  man 
was  Adam  Hoofstitler  was  nothing  short  of  madden 
ing.  For  Pearly 's  own  sake,  because  Simon  loved 
her,  he  would  save  her  from  a  union  so  fatal  to  her 
happiness— to  the  happiness  of  any  woman.  But 
mingled  with  the  passion  of  his  love  for  her  was  an 
other  passion  almost  as  fierce— his  detestation  of 
Adam.  . 

It  had  begun  away  back  in  their  school-days,  when 
Adam,  who  was  the  bully  of  the  school,  used  to  make 
pretty  little  Pearly  cry  by  taunting  Simon  with  his 
"game  leg"  and  then,  right  in  Simon's  presence,  seiz 
ing  Pearly  and  kissing  her  until  her  tears  were 
turned  to  laughter.  Sometimes  Simon's  rage  would 
get  the  better  of  his  prudence,  and  he  would  try  to 
fight  Adam,  who  was  twice  his  size.  Of  course,  poor 
Simon  always  came  out  beaten.  Once,  a  quarrel  that 
had  been  entirely  provoked  by  Adam  led  to  Simon's 
suspension  from  school  for  a  month,  because,  Adam's 
father  being  a  school-director,  the  teacher  felt  it  pru 
dent  to  take  his  part. 

A  climax  had  come  one  night  at  a  party  to  which 
Simon  had  escorted  Pearly  when  she  was  a  blooming, 
bewitching  maiden  of  sixteen.  Simon  at  that  time 
had  been  too  poor  to  hire  a  sleigh  to  take  her  to  the 
party,  but  he  and  Pearly,  who  was  very  fond  of  him, 
had  enjoyed  the  moonlight  walk  over  the  crisp  snow 

196 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

with  all  the  keenness  of  their  youth.  It  was  when  the 
party  was  over  and  she  and  Simon  were  stepping  out 
of  the  house  to  walk  home  together,  both  of  them  with 
sweet  anticipations  of  the  pleasure  of  their  long, 
moonlight  walk,  that  Adam  had  suddenly  come  up 
behind  them  and  with  a  roar  of  laughter  thrust  Simon 
roughly  aside,  lifted  Pearly  bodily  in  his  arms,  set 
her  in  his  own  sleigh,  and  driven  off  with  her.  Simon 
had  slipped  on  the  ice  when  Adam  pushed  him  and 
had  given  his  lame  foot  a  wrench  that  had  made  his 
almost  unnoticeable  lameness  conspicuous  for  the  rest 
of  his  life. 

For  many  days  after  this  party  Simon,  laid  up  with 
his  injured  foot  and  kept  from  the  work  by  which  he 
supported  his  widowed  mother  and  himself,  waited 
in  vain  for  some  word  of  apology  or  regret  from 
Pearly.  He  rose  from  his  bed  at  the  end  of  a  month, 
a  hardened  and  a  bitter  man,  in  the  very  flush  of  his 
young  manhood. 

This  stolid  moroseness,  with  which,  after  many 
years,  he  had  become  impregnated,  left  even  himself 
deceived  as  to  the  passions  still  alive  in  him— until  a 
revelation  of  himself  was  made  to  him  in  the  news  of 
Adam's  betrothal  to  Pearly. 

"Mebbe  it  ain't  so,  fur  all !"  he  was  saying  to  him 
self  as  he  strode  up  the  village  street,  in  the  warm 
April  afternoon,  his  head  hanging  forward,  his  hands 

197 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

clasped  behind  him.  "How  could  Pearly  look  fur 
happiness  married  to  him — she  knows  how  ugly-dis- 
positioned  he  is!" 

A  heavy  footstep  on  the  otherwise  noiseless  street 
made  him  look  up — to  see  Adam  himself  coming 
toward  him.  In  his  customary  blustering  tone,  Adam 
hailed  him : 

''Hello,  Game-leg!  What  are  you  starin'  at?  I 
hope  you  '11  mebbe  know  me  next  time  you  see  me ! ' ' 

Simon  found  himself  strangely  impervious  to-day  to 
the  taunt  which  in  his  sensitive  boyhood  had  so  tor 
tured  him.  As  he  walked  on  up  the  street,  he  con 
tinued  to  consider,  heavily,  what  there  was  in  Adam 
that  could  attract  Pearly. 

"He  's  a  good-looker,"  he  acknowledged  to  himself 
with  an  icy  chill  at  his  heart  as  he  thought  of  his  own 
maimed  member  and  of  his  general  physical  inferior 
ity  to  the  stalwart,  broad-shouldered  Adam.  "And, 
to  be  sure,  that  makes  somepin, '  too,  to  a  girl— as  much 
as  it  does  to  a  man  if  a  girl  's  a  good-looker.  And 
he  's  well  fixed.  He  'd  purvide  good  fur  her.  Bet 
ter  'n  me— fur  all  I  'm  well  fixed,  too,  now.  But  I 
was  n't  till  a  little  while  back  yet,  and  Adam  he  al 
ways  was.  If  I  thought  there  was  any  chanct  fur 
me,  I  'd  try  to  cut  him  out,  even  yet ! ' ' 

His  steps  had  led  him  half  unconsciously  toward 
Pearly 's  home.  He  had  never  looked  at  or  spoken  to 

198 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

her  since  that  night  she  had  been  snatched  from  him 
at  the  party,  but  he  knew  to-day  that  his  boyish  love 
for  her  had  never  died,  and  that  she  was  the  only 
woman  in  the  world  whom  he  would  ever  want  to 
marry. 

Pearly  was  the  only  child  of  the  people  who 
kept  the  station  restaurant  and  the  village  grocery 
store. 

As  Simon  reached  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  Mr. 
Schwenkf elder's  yellow  frame  house,  his  ear  was 
caught  and  thrilled  by  the  sound  of  Pearly 's  voice 
singing  in  the  front  room  to  an  accompaniment  on 
her  cabinet  organ.  He  stopped  short  and  listened. 

"When  the  pearly  gates  unfold 
for  you  and  me ! " 

were  the  words  which  floated  to  him  from  the  "best 
front  room." 

"I  '11  go  in  oncet  and  get  a  plate  of  ice-cream  or 
what ! "  he  resolved  with  a  thumping  of  his  heart  that 
fairly  made  his  knees  shake. 

The  restaurant  opened  into  the  parlor  where  Pearly 
sat,  and  he  could  see  her  plump,  pretty  figure  at  the 
organ  as  he  took  his  place  at  one  of  the  oil-cloth  cov 
ered  tables  of  the  small  eating-room. 

There  were  no  other  customers  present.  The 
"hired  girl"  who  was  in  attendance  came  at  once  to 

199 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

take  his  order.     Simon  looked  about  at  the  printed 
signs  which  covered  the  walls : 

' '  Sarsaparilla,  five  cents";  "Ginger-ale,  five 
cents";  "Ice-cream,  five  and  ten  cents";  "Oyster 
stews,  fifteen  cents";  "Ham  and  X,  twenty  cents." 

The  last  sign  was  a  concession  to  the  Pennsylvania 
Dutch  pronunciation  of  "ham  and  eggs." 

"I  '11  take  a  glass  of  sassaf arilla, ' '  he  said. 

While  he  waited,  his  eyes  feasting  upon  the  uncon 
scious  object  of  his  ardor,  Pearly  struck  up  another 
song.  The  quite  heartrending  words  were  warbled 
to  an  accompaniment  that  was  inappropriately 
jaunty.  The  song  tragically  told  of  the  early  death 
of  a  maiden  whose  lover,  in  his  despairing  grief,  pined 
away  and  shortly  followed  her  to  "her  tomb  in  the 
walley." 

"In  the  walley,  in  the  walley!" 

Pearly  shrilly  sang  the  chorus: 

"In  the  walley  they  laid  him  by  her  side!" 

Perhaps  Pearly  felt  the  intensity  of  thought  and 
emotion  directed  to  her  from  Simon's  excited  mind, 
for  she  suddenly  stopped  short,  turned  on  the  red 
plush  organ-stool,  and  fully  met  his  gaze  fixed  upon 
her  from  the  room  beyond. 

Her  face  went  pale  as  she  saw  him.    For  an  instant 

2OO 


"  Pearly  struck  up  another  song" 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

she  hesitated,  while  Simon's  eyes  seemed  to  hold  her 
spellbound.  Then  suddenly  she  rose,  came  quickly 
forward,  and  entered  the  eating-room.  There  was  a 
bright  look  of  excitement  in  her  face  and  a  soft  de 
light  about  the  smile  of  her  full  lips  that  made  Si 
mon's  head  swim. 

"Why,  Si!  Did  you  come  oncet!"  she  exclaimed, 
seating  herself  opposite  him,  leaning  her  elbows  on 
the  table  and  her  cheeks  on  the  back  of  her  hands.  ' '  I 
think  it  can't  be!  You  're  a  wonderful  stranger! 
Ain't  you  are?" 

"I  felt  fur  a  drink  of  sassafarilla,  it  's  such  a  hot 
day,"  said  Simon,  growing  red  with  his  embarrass 
ment  in  explaining  his  presence. 

He  sipped  his  glass  to  cover  his  sense  of  awkward 
ness.  Every  nerve  in  him  was  tingling  with  delight 
at  Pearly 's  nearness.  Sh,e  did  not  speak  again  at 
once,  b"ut  sat  looking  at  him  in  silence.  What  should 
he  say  to  her?  What  had  he  really  come  here  for? 
Was  there  any  least  use  in  the  world  of  his  trying  to 
cut  out  Adam  Hoofstitler  at  this  late  stage  of  the 
game?  That  look  of  pleasure  with  which  she  had 
come  forward  to  greet  him— could  he  dare  to  take 
hope  from  it? 

Pearly  made  a  slight  restless  movement  in  her  chair, 
and  a  fear  seized  him  that  she  would  rise  and  leave 
him. 

"I  did  n't  know,  Pearly,  that  you  'd  learned  to 

203 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

play  and  sing  so  good,"  he  quickly  said.  "You  're 
a  wonderful  pretty  singer." 

"Yes,  I  know  a  good  bit  about  music.  I  took 
twenty-four  lessons  fur  five  dollars  off  the  Evangel 
ical  preacher 's  daughter. ' ' 

"I  like  to  hear  you  sing,  'When  the  pearly  gates.' 
It  minds  me  of  you!'' 

"Do  you  think?  Because  my  name  's  Pearly, 
ain't?"  she  asked,  smiling  and  blushing.  "You  al 
ways  was  so  fond  fur  my  name,  still,  ain't  you  was, 
Si?  Pop,  too,"  she  nodded.  "Pop  he  give  me  my 
name.  He  seen  it  oncet  in  such  a  'Family  Story 
Paper,'  and  he  always  thought  such  a  heap  of  that 
name ! ' ' 

"I,  too,"  said  Simon. 

"It  's  a  wonder,  Si,  you  could  be  away  from  work 
in  the  middle  of  the  day  yet ! ' '  Pearly  remarked. 

"I  ain't  got  much  time,"  said  Simon  confusedly. 
"What  time  it  is,  Pearly?" 

She  drew  a  tiny  gold  watch  from  her  bosom  and 
held  it  toward  him.  "It  's  half  past  twelf." 

"Well,"  said  Simon,  "I  don't  have  to  get  back  till 
a  half  hour  a 'ready.  Did  your  pop  give  you  that 
wonderful  handsome  watch,  Pearly?"  he  asked;  for 
all  Stumpstown  knew  that,  to  her  father,  Pearly,  his 
only  child,  was  the  very  core  of  his  heart,  and  that  he 
delighted  to  "spend  on  her." 

2O4 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

"N— no,"  answered  Pearly,  her  eyes  falling.  "I 
—I  came  by  this  watch." 

She  did  not  need  to  explain.  Adam  Hoofstitler 
had  surely  given  her  the  watch. 

"Last  Sundays,  Si,"  she  hastily  added,  "I  thought 
I  have  saw  you  walk  on  the  cemetery.  Was  it  you? 
I  was  there  with — I  was  walking  on  the  cemetery, 
too ' ' ;  she  changed  her  statement  with  a  self-conscious 
look  and  tone  that  made  Simon's  heart  sink  lower. 

"Yes,  I  was  walkin*  on  the  cemetery,"  he  dully 
answered.  "I  did  n't  take  notice  to  you  walkin' 
there." 

"Did  you  come  on  a  funeral,  Si?" 

"No,  I  just  come  so." 

"I  thought  you  mebbe  had  came  on  the  funeral  of 
that  party  where  was  ninety-nine  years  old  and  was 
brought  from  Bethlehem  over.  I  seen  the  remains. 
There  was  nothin '  but  skin  and  bones  at  him ! ' ' 

"Now  think!"  said  Simon. 

"Indeed,  yes!"  sighed  Pearly.  "It  used  to  make 
me  feel  funny  to  look  at  them  awful  thin  remains ! ' ' 

"It  was  a  pity  of  him,"  said  Simon  perfunctorily. 

The  topic  was  neither  savory  nor  fruitful,  and 
conversation  here  flagged  a  trifle. 

Simon  wrestled  with  a  desperate  temptation  to  put 
his  fate  to  an  immediate  test,  demand  of  Pearly 
whether  she  were  really  "promised"  to  Adam,  and 

205 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

discover  at  once  whether  she  could  give  him  any 
hope. 

1 '  You  're  lookin '  well,  Si.  Only  a  little  older, ' '  the 
girl  remarked. 

"You  're  lookin'  good,  too,  Pearly.  Only  I  can't 
say  you  're  lookin'  any  older.  Say,  Pearly!" 

"What,  Si?" 

"Why  did  n't  you  never  write  to  me  when  I  was 
laid  up  after  that  party  where  Adam  Hoofstitler 
fetched  you  away  from  me?" 

Pearly 's  fair  face  and  neck  flushed  a  deep  pink  as 
she  gazed  at  him  with  wide  eyes  of  surprise. 

"Si,  I  was  just  a-goin'  to  ast  you  why  you  never 
come  to  see  me  or  ast  fur  me  when  I  had  so  sick  after 
that  there  sleigh-ride  with  Adam ! ' ' 

"7  never  heard  you  had  sick,  Pearly!" 

' '  I  had  sick  of  typhoid  fever.  It  was  the  day  after 
the  party,  and  I  believe  I  was  washing  dishes,  or  what 
I  was  doing— when  I  got  it  so  in  my  head !  I  went  to 
bed,  and  the  doctor  he  did  n't  know  what  it  would 
give  yet,  but  till  a  day  or  two  it  give  typhoid  fever. 
I  had  to  do  seven  weeks  with  it,  and  it  turned  me  all 
over!  And  when  I  got  some  better,  the  first  thing  I 
ast  was  if  Si  was  here  ever.  And  when  they  sayed 
no,  only  Adam,  and  they  sayed  how  all  the  time  I  had 
sick,  Adam  he  was  so  kind  that  way — then  I  did  n't 
know  what  to  think  no  more !" 

2O6 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

"Pearly!  I  never  knowed  you  had  sick!  I  was 
laid  up  with  my  foot,  and  no  person  never  tole  me 
you  had  the  fever ! ' ' 

' '  Now,  Si! ' '  Pearly  half  gasped.  ' '  You  don 't  mean 
to  say  you  never  knowed ! ' ' 

' '  Pearly ! ' '  called  a  voice  from  the  grocery  store  on 
the  other  side  of  the  eating-room,  "what  you  do?" 

It  was  the  voice  of  her  father,  and  it  was  followed 
by  his  portly  appearance  in  the  doorway. 

"What  you  do,  Pearly?" 

"Nothin',  pop." 

"Well,  then,"  he  jocularly  admonished  her,  "stop 

it!" 

t 

He  roared  with  laughter  at  his  own  wit  as  he  stood 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  his  fat  palms  resting  on  his  hips, 
his  red  cheeks  shaking  with  his  mirth. 

"Why,  Si!"  he  exclaimed  in  surprise  as  he  recog 
nized  the  young  man.  "What  brung  you  along 
yet?" 

Simon  felt,  in  Mr.  Schwenkf elder 's  surprised  greet 
ing,  an  overwhelming  sense  of  embarrassment  in  his 
fear  lest  the  purpose  of  his  visit  be  manifest  to 
Pearly 's  father.  Could  he  once  be  persuaded  that 
she  cared  more  for  him  than  for  Adam,  he  would 
brave  her  father,  Adam,  and  all  the  village  in  his  en 
deavors  to  win  her.  But  so  long  as  he  was  in  doubt, 
his  confusion  and  timidity  ruled  him. 

207 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

"It  gets  late  on  me,  and  I  must  go,"  he  said,  rising 
abruptly. 

"Well,  good-by,  Si,"  said  Pearly,  a  wistful  note  in 
her  voice  that  set  his  pulse  to  bounding.  He  lifted 
his  downcast  eyes  and  looked  at  her. 

"Mebbe  I  might  come,  a  little  while  after  supper, 
down,"  he  suggested.  "Would  my  comp'ny  be  ac 
ceptable,  Pearly?" 

"I  'd  enjoy  your  comp'ny  much,  Si,"  she  blush- 
ingly  answered. 

"Ain't  you  lookin'  fur  Adam  Hoofstitler  over?" 
he  blurted  out. 

"He— he  has  to  go  up  behind  Reading  this  after," 
she  faltered. 

"And  when  the  cat  's  away  the  mice  '11  play,  heh?" 
hilariously  shouted  Mr.  Schwenkf  elder.  "Ain't, 

sir' 

Simon  hardly  knew,  as,  only  half  conscious  of  the 
ground  under  his  feet,  he  limped  homeward,  whether 
he  ought  to  feel  elated  or  discouraged  at  Pearly 's  in 
vitation,  since  it  was  given  because  Adam  would  be 
out  of  town.  Was  Pearly  only  wanting  to  trifle  with 
him?  Just  what  it  might  signify  as  to  Pearly 's  true 
sentiments,  Simon  pondered  heavily  all  the  rest  of  the 
day,  until  at  nightfall  he  again  found  himself,  with 
alternate  hope  and  misgiving,  walking  up  the  village 
street  toward  Schwenkf  elder 's  restaurant. 

208 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

Pearly  was  sitting  on  the  front  porch,  most  fetch- 
ingly  dressed  in  a  white  frock  with  pink  ribbons 
on  it. 

"I  'm  that  glad  to  see  you,  Si!"  she  greeted  him; 
"come  here  and  set  down  on  the  porch,  side  by 
each!" 

"I  brung  you  a  present,  Pearly,"  Simon  boldly 
plunged  in  when  he  had  taken  the  chair  at  her  side. 
"Will  you  accept  it  off  of  me?" 

"Oh,  Si!  I  don't  know  if  I  had  ought  to.  What 
fur  present  is  it?"  she  inquired,  with  eyes  of  eager 
curiosity  on  the  package  in  his  hand. 

This  "present"  was  a  test  on  Simon's  part.  If  she 
accepted  it  from  him,  she  was  surely  not  "promised" 
to  another.  Such  an  act  would  be  counted  by 
Stumpstown  standards  as  nothing  short  of  stealing. 
It  would  be  getting  goods  on  false  pretenses. 

Simon  removed  the  wrapping  paper  and  brought 
forth  a  large  volume,  the  title  of  which  appeared  in 
gilt  letters  on  the  brown  imitation-of-leather  cover. 

Hoses  and  Thorns  of  Paris  and  London. 

That  Lessons  may  be  learned  therefrom, 

Influencing   to    Shun   Evil   and   Admire 

Virtue. 

"I  bought  it  off  of  such  a  agent  last  week,"  he  ex- 
2O9 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

plained;  "and  to-night  I  conceited  I  'd  fetch  it  with 
— and  give  it  a  present  to  you,  Pearly.  It  's  got  pic 
tures  all  through.  It  cost  me  four  ninety-eight." 

"Now,  think!"  cried  Pearly  admiringly.  "I  never 
had  a  book  where  cost  that  much.  It  's  wonderful 
handsome,  Si;  Saddy!"  (Thank  you.) 

' '  I  'm  glad  you  like  it,  Pearly. ' ' 

"I  like  it  wonderful,  Si." 

"Then  ain't  you  promised  to  Adam  Hoofstitler, 
Pearly?" 

Simon's  heart  beat  thick  in  his  breast  as  he  asked 
the  crucial  question. 

Pearly  started  and  blushed  very  red  in  her  confu 
sion. 

"I  ain't  just  to  say  promised,  Si.  But— but  we  're 
in  with  each  other  wonderful  thick. ' ' 

"But  you  ain't  promised?" 

"No— not  just  to  say  that.  But,"  she  faltered, 
her  eyes  downcast,  "it  ain't  because  Adam  ain't  ast 
me  often  enough. ' ' 

"Pearly!  Is  it  that  you  won't  have  him,  or 
what?" 

"I  won't  do  it  to  say  to  him  if  I  will  or  no.  But 
—to  be  sure,  me  and  Adam,  us  we  're  awful  well  ac 
quainted  together  that  way.  And  in  January  I  get 
twenty  years  old,  and  now  pop  and  mom  they  say  it  's 
time  I  marry  oncet ! ' ' 

21O 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

"And  why  won't  you  say  yes  to  Adam?"  Simon 
asked  huskily. 

Pearly  looked  down  and  outlined  with  her  fingers 
the  letters  on  her  book. 

"I  have  a  many  reasons." 

"Won't  you  tell  'em  off  to  me?"  Simon  pleaded. 

"I  don't  think  it  would  be  nice  in  me  to  talk  down 
on  Adam  as  long  as  I  leave  him  keep  comp'ny  with 
me." 

"Is  it  that  you  don't  know  right  what  you  do  want, 
or  whatever?" 

"Well,  Si,"  answered  Pearly,  leaning  a  little  nearer 
to  him  and  lowering  her  voice  confidentially,  "some 
times  I  say  to  myself,  '  I  sure  won 't  do  it. '  And  then 
again  when  Adam  he  plagues  me  so  to  have  him,  I 
don't  know  what  to  think.  But  I  pass  it  as  my  opin 
ion  a  girl  ought  not  to  engage  till  she  's  sure." 

"Don't  you  like  him  good  enough?" 

"I  'm  afraid,  Si,  sometimes  I  don't.  Then  again 
sometimes  I  think  I  could  stand  him  pretty  good— fur 
all  he  's  so  hard  to  do  with  and  so  ugly-dispositioned ! 
And  through  the  nose  he  talks — and  that  kreistles 
(disgusts)  me.  And  he  's  so  jealous — I  darsent  never 
even  talk  with  other  ones !" 

"Is  it— is  it  that  you  mebbe  like  someone  else, 
Pearly?"  Simon  ventured. 

Pearly  nervously  fingered  her  book  and  did  not  at 

211 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

once  answer.  But  at  last,  without  looking  up,  she 
said  in  a  low  voice : 

"Mebbe  that  is  it.  I— I  never  could  forget  you,  Si, 
and  how  much  me  and  you  enjoyed  ourselves  to  be  to 
gether!" 

"Pearly!"  Simon  leant  forward  and  clasped  her 
hand.  "Look  at  here!  You  give  Adam  the  go-by 
and  be  my  girl!" 

"Oh,  Si!"  murmured  Pearly,  tears  in  her  voice, 
"it  don't  look  nice  if  I  travel  with  you  now,  after 
Adam !  I  'd  sooner  have  you,  Si,  'deed  I  would — but 
it  don't  do!  It  gives  bad  feelings  to  break  away 
from  your  steady  comp'ny  like  that.  I  would  n't 
know  how  to  do  it." 

"I  '11  easy  tell  you  how,  Pearly!  "When  is  Adam 
eomin'  to  set  up  with  you  again?" 

"Monday  dinners  he  comes,  on  his  way  to  work,  and 
sets  an  hour. ' ' 

"Well,  you  just  tell  him,  when  he  comes,  how  you 
made  up  with  Simon  Flick,  and  you  're  goin'  to  keep 
comp'ny  now  with  him,  and  Adam  he  should  go  on 
home  and  stay.  That  's  the  way  you  can  do  it. ' ' 

"Oh,  Si,  he  would  n't  listen  on  me.  And  I  would 
n't  half  do  that — I  would  n't  half  send  him  home — 
when  me  and  him  's  been  keepin'  comp'ny  so  long 
a 'ready!" 

"Then  let  it  to  me.    I  '11  go  to  see  him  and  tell 

212 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

him!"  Simon  eagerly  suggested,  scenting  a  fore 
taste  of  his  enjoyment  in  such  a  triumph  over  his 
hated,  life-long  tormentor  and  enemy. 

"I  would  n't  risk  leavin'  you  do  that !"  said  Pearly. 
"Adam,  he  'd  most  likely  up  and  fight  you!  You 
see,  Si,  no  one  can't  easy  get  over  (get  ahead  of) 
Adam— he  's  so  strong — and  so  quick-dispositioned. 
Oh!" 

This  sudden  outcry  was  occasioned  by  the  appear 
ance  at  the  porch  steps  of  none  other  than  the  re 
doubtable  Adam  himself. 

He  was  not  dressed  in  his  ' '  Sunday  suit, ' '  in  which 
a  young  man  of  Stumpstown  must  always  be  clad 
when  he  calls  on  a  young  lady ;  he  wore  his  every-day 
clothes  and  carried  a  small  valise. 

"Well,  Pearly!  I  conceited  I  'd  stop  on  my  way 
home  and  see  how  you  was.  I  got  home  earlier  than 
what  I  thought  for. ' ' 

He  had  mounted  three  of  the  four  porch  steps  be 
fore  he  recognized  the  man  who  was  sitting  beside 
Pearly,  for  the  evening  had  grown  dark  while  Simon 
and  Pearly  had  been  talking  together. 

"Well,  I  'm  blamed,  if  it  ain't  Si  Flick!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "Hello,  Club-foot,  what  are  you  doin' 
here?" 

Simon  Flick  did  not  wince.  He  felt  the  cherished 
animosity  of  years  fail  him  utterly. 

213 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

Neither  he  nor  Pearly  made  any  answer  to 
Adam. 

"Well— it  's  time  you  limped  along  home,  Si," 
Adam  instructed  him,  "and  give  up  your  chair  to 
me.  I  don't  know  what  you  're  doin'  anyhow,  settin' 
here  with  Pearly !  Go  on,  now ! ' ' 

Simon  leaned  hack  comfortably  in  his  chair  and 
fitted  together  the  tips  of  his  fingers.  He  did  not 
speak. 

"Do  you  hear?"  cried  Adam.  "Pearly,  shall  I 
chase  him  off?"  he  half  jocularly,  half  angrily  asked. 
His  tone  expressed  his  perplexity  at  the  silence  of 
both  of  them. 

"Adam  Hoofstitler, "  Pearly  answered  him  quietly, 
Hut  with  an  unaccustomed  force  in  her  manner, ' '  you  'd 
better  chase  yourself  off  if  you  can't  treat  my  friend 
civil.  Si  was  always  my  friend  since  I  was  a  little 
girl  yet,  and  you  sha  'n  't  affront  him  here ! ' ' 

"He  ain't  been  your  friend  fur  as  much  as  four 
years  back  a 'ready!"  Adam  contradicted  her, 
amazement  getting  the  better  of  his  usually  ready 
anger  at  opposition. 

"But  he  would  of  been  if  it  had  n't  been  fur  you, 
Adam.  I  did  n't  know  how  you  made  him  fall,  and 
how  he  was  laid  up  all  the  time  I  had  sick— and  it  was 
all  your  doin 's ! " 

"So  them  's  the  things  Simon  's  been  settin'  here 

214 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

tellin'  you,  heh?  Well,  Pearly,"  he  sarcastically  sug 
gested,  "you  better  choose  right  now  which  of  us  two 
you  '11  have  then." 

' '  Pearly ! ' '  Simon  here  became  articulate.  ' '  Here  's 
your  chanct.  Choose  between  us  now!  Pearly,  I 
pass  you  my  word,  if  you  choose  me,  I  '11  never  in 
all  our  lives  together  do  anything  to  make  you  sorry 
you  choosed  me.  I  '11  use  you  as  good  as  I  other 
wise  can,  Pearly ! ' ' 

"Is  the  feller  went  crazy  as  well  as  club-footed?" 
cried  Adam.  "Pearly,  what  's  he  talkin'  anyhow?" 

Pearly  rose  from  her  chair,  and  Simon  quickly 
stood  at  her  side.  The  girl  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 
"I  choose  you,  Simon.  And  Adam,  here  's  your 
watch  back  again. ' ' 

She  took  out  her  little  gold  timepiece  and  held  it 
toward  her  rejected  lover. 

He  did  not  take  it.  For  an  instant  he  glared  at  her, 
his  eyes  shining  in  the  dimness  with  a  concentrated 
anger  that  made  her  tremble,  but  before  which  she  did 
not  quail. 

Suddenly— his  face  apoplectic  with  rage— he  made 
a  dash  at  Simon.  But  Simon  had  been  watching  for 
this— had  he  not  known  Adam  Hoofstitler  all  his  life 
long?— and  having  the  advantage  of  standing  a  step 
higher  on  the  porch  than  his  antagonist,  he  met  his 
onslaught  with  a  quick,  parrying  blow  which,  taking 

215 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

Adam  by  surprise,  hurled  him  backward  to  the  pave 
ment. 

Instantly,  however,  he  was  on  his  feet  again,  and 
now,  quite  beside  himself  with  fury,  he  rushed  a  sec 
ond  time  upon  Simon.  Pearly,  recklessly  obeying 
her  instinct  to  protect  her  chosen  lover,  stepped  in 
front  of  him  before  he  could  prevent  her — and  it 
was  she  who  received  Adam 's  blow ! 

It  would  have  struck  her  to  the  floor  had  not  Simon 
caught  her  as  she  fell.  Adam,  heedless  of  his  outrage 
to  the  girl,  seized  Simon  by  his  collar  to  hurl  him  off — 
when  he  found  himself  grasped  by  the  strong  hand 
of  Pearly 's  father. 

"What  you  mean,  doin'  somepin'  like  this?"  de 
manded  Mr.  Schwenkfelder  furiously,  his  face  crim 
son  with  mingled  alarm  for  his  daughter  and  anger 
at  the  man  whom  he  had  seen  strike  the  blow. 

"I  did  n't  go  to  hit  Pearly — you  might  know!" 
growled  Adam,  trying  to  shake  himself  free  of 
Schwenkf elder's  hand  on  his  collar.  But  big  and 
strong  as  Adam  was,  Mr.  Schwenkfelder  was  his 
match. 

"And  when  you  'd  hit  her,  'stead  of  bein'  con 
cerned  fur  her,  you  just  kep'  on  tryin'  to  fight  Simon, 
you  coward!  Well,  this  here  settles  you!  I  never 
did  like  you  anyways,  with  your  bullyin',  braggin' 
ways!  You  can  just  take  yourself  off!  and  double 
quick,  too,  or  I  '11  set  the  dog  on  you ! ' ' 

2l6 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

"Ezra  Schwenkf elder !"  protested  Adam,  his  own 
anger  cooled  before  this  unexpected  encounter  with 
Pearly 's  father;  "you  '11  sure  think  better  of  this 
here  till  morning  a 'ready;  you  're  some  mad  and 
don't  know  right  what  you  're  sayin'!  I  'm  sorry  if 
I  hurt  Pearly!" 

He  turned  to  the  girl,  whom  Simon  had  helped  to 
her  chair.  She  was  white  and  trembling,  and  her 
childish  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Adam  with  fear  and 
aversion. 

*  'Pearly!  I  'm  wonderful  sorry  this  here  happened ! 
It  's  all  because  this  here  Simon  Flick — ' ' 

"That  's  like  your  cowardness!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Schwenkf  elder  disgustedly,  "to  be  blamin'  someone 
else  fur  your  own  bullyin'  and  bruteness!" 

"I  always  knowed,"  panted  Pearly,  "that  some 
day  you  'd  hit  me,  Adam!  I  felt  you  would  some 
day !  But  I  sure  never  conceited  you  'd  do  it  before 
we  was  married  a 'ready!" 

"Clear  out  here,  I  tell  you!"  commanded  Mr. 
Schwenkf  elder,  "and  good  riddance!  I  seen  enough 
of  you  just  now  to  make  me  know  you  ain't  marryin' 
our  Pearly  if  I  can  help!" 

Adam,  obeying  perforce,  turned  his  back  on  them 
all  and  stalked  away. 

An  hour  later  Pearly,  quite  herself  again  after  her 
fright,  stood  at  the  porch  steps  bidding  Simon  good 
night. 

217 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

"Pearly!"  he  breathed  ecstatically  as  he  held  both 
her  hands  in  his,  "to-night  I  done  what  I  conceited 
to  do  since  that  night  four  years  back,  when  Adam 
Hoofstitler  spited  me  so  wonderful  by  taking  you 
away  from  me  and  carrying  you  home  in  his  sleigh ! ' ' 

"What  was  it,  Si,  that  you  'd  conceited  to  do?" 
Pearly  shyly  asked,  prepared  to  feast  on  his  honeyed 
words  of  long  devotion  to  herself. 

"I  always  conceited  that  no  matter  how  long  I  'd 
have  to  wait,  I  'd  some  time  get  back  at  Adam  Hoof 
stitler  fur  what  he  done  to  me !  And  to-night  I  have 
got  back  at  him.  To-night  I  've  did  what  I  set  out 
to  do  four  years  back  and  have  thought  about  every 
day  since!  But  I  've  did  even  better  'n  I  planned 
fur,  I  Ve  took  his  girl  off  him!  I  never  thought 
I  could  get  that  good  a  spite  at  him!  And  now,"  Si 
mon  added  in  deep-toned  satisfaction,  "I  'm  con 
tented!" 

Pearly  drew  her  hands  from  his  and  stepped  back, 
her  eyes  fastened  upon  Simon  with  much  the  look 
of  fear  and  aversion  which  she  had  turned  upon 
Adam  when  she  had  sent  him  about  his  business  an 
hour  before. 

"So  that  's  what  you  come  here  fur  to-day!"  she 
breathed.  "That  's  what  you  made  love  to  me  fur 
and  ast  me  to  be  your  girl !— so  's  you  could  get  your 
spite  out  of  Adam!  Not  because  you  loved  me,  but 

2l8 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

because  you  wanted  to  get  me  loosed  of  Adam  to  spite 
him!  Well,  Simon  Flick,  you  was  wonderful  dumb 
to  tell  me— fur  now  I  'd  sooner  be  six  old  maids  as 
marry  you!  I  'd  sooner  marry  Adam  than  a  man 
that  ast  me  to  marry  him  just  so  's  to  spite  another 
man!" 

"But,  Pearly-" 

She  had  turned  and  rushed  into  the  house  before 
he  could  stop  her. 

Simon  stood  confounded.  His  head  swam  with  the 
effect  of  this  sudden  revulsion  of  his  joy  to  alarm 
and  grief.  "What  had  he  done?  What  had  hap 
pened?  Pearly  lost  to  him!  She  would  "sooner 
marry  Adam. ' '  Simon  passed  his  hand  over  his  head 
and  staggered  down  the  street. 

During  a  long,  sleepless  night  he  wrestled  with  his 
trouble.  How  could  he  make  it  right  with  Pearly 
and  win  her  back?  He  realized  that  when  on  the 
next  morning  Adam  should  go  to  her  in  all  the  confi 
dence  of  his  strong  self-esteem,  she  would  most  likely, 
in  her  disappointment  in  himself,  take  back  her  re 
jected  lover;  and  yet,  Simon  knew  that  the  pain  he 
suffered  in  the  thought  of  this  was  all  for  the  loss  of 
Pearly  and  scarcely  at  all  for  the  triumph  of  Adam. 
Had  he  not  then  misrepresented  himself  to  Pearly? 
Was  his  heart  really  so  black  with  unchristian 
"spite"  as  he  had  himself  supposed  it  to  be?  If  he 

219 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

could  prove  to  Pearly  that  it  was  not!— then  all 
might  even  yet  be  well  with  him — unless  his  proof, 
coming  after  her  reconciliation  with  Adam,  was  too 
late. 

Next  morning,  as  early  as  propriety  would  permit, 
Simon  went  to  see  Pearly.  But  it  was  as  he  had 
feared.  He  was  too  late.  Adam  was  there  ahead  of 
him.  The  " hired  girl"  who  answered  his  knock  on 
the  door  told  him  so  and  handed  him  a  folded  sheet 
of  paper. 

Simon  unfolded  the  paper  and  read: 

" Friend.  I  don't  never  want  to  see  you  no  more, 
Simon,  after  what  you  spoke  to  me  last  night. 

"PEARLY  SCHWENKFELDER. " 

The  note  crushed  in  his  hand,  Simon  turned  away, 
his  face  ashy. 

But  as  the  house  door  closed  behind  him,  the  res 
taurant  door  next  to  it  opened,  and  Mr.  Schwenkfel- 
der  stepped  out. 

"Si!  I  want  to  speak  somepin'  to  you!" 

"What  does  Adam  Hoofstitler  mean,  sneakin' 
'round  here  after  what  you  sayed  to  him  last  night?" 
desperately  demanded  Simon. 

"Yes,  ain't!"  vigorously  nodded  Mr.  Schwenkf el 
der.  "Well,  he  did  n't  take  me  serious.  He  thought 

22O 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

I  M  be  over  it  till  this  morning  a 'ready.  But  I 
meant  it  all  right !  I  never  did  like  him  and  his  mas 
terful  ways.  Missus  she  says,  too,  she  'd  be  better 
satisfied  if  Pearly  took  someone  else.  Missus  she 
never  did  like  Adam. ' ' 

"And  now  are  yous  leavin'  him  come  back  to 
Pearly  again  after  what  passed  between  yous  last 
night?" 

"Well,  Adam  he  come  here  this  morning  as  if 
nothin'  had  happened,  and  he  sayed  he  'd  come  to  ast 
a  favor  off  of  me,  and  he  sayed  he  had  the  chanct  to 
git  the  post-office  of  Stumpstown  at  three  hundred 
dollars  per  annum  by  the  year,  if  he  could  get  a  party 
to  go  on  his  bond  fur  one  thousand  dollars.  Well,  I 
sayed  I  would  n't  do  it  to  go  on  his  bond,  fur  I  did 
that  way  oncet  fur  a  man  in  a  bank,  and  I  lost.  And 
I  passed  my  promise  then  to  missus  I  'd  never  do  it 
no  more.  Adam  he  did  n  't  know  no  person  else  to  ast. 
It  ain't  much  people  in  Stumpstown  has  prop'ty  to 
that  amount,  you  know.  Adam  he  's  a  good  bit  spited 
at  me.  But  he  kep '  it  down  on  account  of  his  wantin ' 
Pearly  so  bad." 

Simon  was  staring  at  him  with  a  strange  gleam  in 
his  eyes— the  look  of  a  man  who  sees  a  vision.  He 
did  not  speak. 

Mr.  Schwenkfelder  regarded  him  in  perplexity. 
"What  's  ailin'  you,  Si?"  he  demanded,  nudging  him 

221 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

with  his  elbow  to  arrest  his  attention.  "You  look  like 
as  if  you  was  seein'  things!" 

"Pearly  and  Adam  's  in  the  parlor,  ain't?"  Simon 
huskily  asked. 

"Yes,  what  d'  you  want,  Si?" 

"Leave  me  speak  to  'em.  I  ain't  raisin'  no  dis 
turbance.  ' ' 

"You  ain't,  mebbe.  But  Adam  is  if  he  sees  you, 
and  I  ain't  havin'  Pearly  no  more  excited!" 

"I  'm  not  a-goin'  to  excite  her.  I  'm  a-goin'  to 
make  her  peaceable." 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do?" 

"You  can  come  with— and  see,"  answered  Simon, 
walking  past  the  hesitating  landlord  into  the  house. 
Adam  and  Pearly  were  seated  together  on  a  haircloth 
sofa.  Pearly 's  face  was  white,  and  her  eyes  down 
cast,  and  Adam  was  in  an  attitude  of  earnest  expos 
tulation.  The  pair  looked  up  in  startled  surprise. 
Pearly 's  white  face  grew  flushed,  and  her  lifeless  eyes 
flashed  upon  Simon.  Adam  eyed  the  leading  intruder 
aggressively. 

Simon  walked  straight  up  to  the  sofa. 

"Adam  Hoofstitler" — he  spoke  in  a  tone  of  quiet 
dignity — ' '  I  come  in  here  to  say  I  'd  go  on  your  bond 
fur  you.  I  tole  Pearly  last  night  how  I  felt  spiteful 
to  you,  and  she  throwed  me  over  because  of  it.  Now 
I  'm  here  to  prove  to  her  that  my  spite  died  out  be- 

222 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

fore  the  sorrow  of  losing  her.  I  ain't  got  no  mean 
feelin's  to  you  now,  and  I  'm  provin'  it  by  offerin'  to 
risk  the  loss  of  them  thousand  dollars.  Pearly!"  he 
besought  the  girl,  "will  this  prove  to  you  that  I  love 
you  true  and  honest  and  with  all  my  heart  ? ' ' 

The  flash  in  Pearly 's  eyes  had  changed  to  a  soft 
glow.  She  rose  from  the  sofa  and  laid  her  hand  on 
Simon's  arm. 

"This  is  more  'n  I  'd  ast  you  to  do,  Si,  to  prove 
your  love!  I  thought  from  the  way  you  spoke  last 
night  it  was  only  spite  to  him  and  not  love  to  me  that 
brung  you  to  see  me.  I  know  different  now,  and 
that  's  all  that  matters  me  anything.  You  have  no 
need  to  go  on  Adam's  bond.  If  I  'm  to  marry  you, 
Si,  I  'm  sure  I  'd  sooner  you  'd  not  risk  that 
much!" 

"It  would  easy-up  my  conscience  if  I  done  it,"  Si 
mon  responded.  ' '  It  always  troubled  me  a  heap,  still, 
how  spiteful  I  could  n't  help  feelin'  to  Adam,  and  it 
kep'  me  from  joinin'  on  to  church.  I  knowed  them 
feelin's  I  had  to  him  was  n't  right,  but 'I  could  n't 
seem  to  help  havin'  'em,  and  I  did  n't  want  to  help 
it,  neither!  I  can't  take  credit  fur  actin'  good  to 
Adam  now,  fur  my  mean  feelin's  to  him  is  all  gone, 
and  it  ain't  no  struggle  to  me.  You  see,  Pearly,  the 
power  of  love  to  cast  out  the  devil ! ' ' 

He  clasped  her  hand  in  both  his  own,  and  the  look 

223 


The  Courting  of  Pearly 

in  their  faces  made  Mr.  Schwenkfelder  modestly  turn 
his  back. 

"Come  on  out  of  here,  Adam — me  and  you  ain't  in 
it!"  he  exclaimed.  "Good  luck  to  you,  Simon!"  he 
called  over  his  shoulder.  "I  'm  satisfied  all  right!" 

"Look  a-here,  Pearly!"  Adam,  who  had  been  sit 
ting  dumfounded,  at  last  found  voice  to  interpose. 
"I  ain't  takin'  his  offer  of  his  bond,  and  I  ain't 
leavin'  him  take  my  girl  off  me  if  I  have  to  lame  his 
other  leg  fur — " 

' '  Here ! ' '  wrathf ully  exclaimed  Mr.  Schwenkfelder, 
turning  about  and  facing  him,  "you  shut  up  that  kind 
of  talk,  do  you  hear  ?  And  come  on  out  of  here !  I  'm 
glad  Simon  turned  up  to  cut  you  out!  You  never 
suited  me  fur  no  son-in-law.  Now,  out  of  here ! ' ' 

Adam  wavered  only  an  instant,  for,  like  all  bullies, 
he  was  a  coward. 

"And  mind  you,"  warned  Mr.  Schwenkfelder  as 
he  followed  him  out  of  the  room,  "you  give  Si  any 
trouble,  and  you  '11  answer  to  me— I  '11  kick  you 
good  if  you  touch  him!  Yes,  and  if  I  hear  of  you 
callin'  your  cowardly  names  after  him!  Now  you 
mind  if  I  don't!" 

The  parlor  door  closed  sharply  behind  them.  And 
Simon  and  Pearly  were  alone. 


224 


THE  DISCIPLINING  OF 
MATHIAS 


THE  DISCIPLINING  OF 
MATHIAS 


MATHIAS  BUCKHOLTER'S  wife  had  been 
dead  fourteen  months,  and  now,  in  the  spring 
of  the  year,  though  he  was  not  a  young  man,  his  fancy 
was  lightly  turning  to  thoughts  of  love,  the  object,  or 
objects,  of  his  tender  consideration  being  the  two 
Ebenshade  girls  at  the  farm  across  the  road  from  his 
own.  He  had  had  them  in  mind  as  possible  successors 
of  his  Emmy  ever  since  the  day  of  her  funeral,  when, 
with  neighborly  sympathy,  they  had  told  him  to 
"come  over  oncet  then,"  and  with  foresight  he  had 
responded  that  when  his  "first  grief  was  over  al 
ready"  he  "would  mebbe  come  over." 

As  Mathias  was  childless,  his  widowerhood  had 
been  very  lonesome.  It  had  not  even  been  economical 
(a  great  point  to  Mathias),  for  the  cost  of  the  funeral, 
together  with  what  he  had  been  obliged  to  pay  out  in 
the  past  year  for  "a  hired  girl,"  had  amounted,  by  a 
clear  calculation,  to  several  dollars  more  than  Em- 

227 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

my's  annual  expenditure  for  clothing.  Not  that 
Mathias  was  a  poor  man;  he  had  a  large  bank  ac 
count  for  a  farmer;  but  he  was  what  the  neighbors 
called  "near." 

Taking  all  things  into  account,  it  was  clear  to  Ma 
thias  that  he  must  marry  again.  The  question  was, 
which  of  the  two  Ebenshade  girls  would  "best  suit." 
Either  of  them  was  indeed  a  prize,  their  father  being 
a  confirmed  widower  of  long  standing,  whose  fine 
large  farm  and  accumulated  savings  would  be  inher 
ited  by  his  two  daughters — Kate,  aged  twenty-six,  and 
Geneva,  twenty-four.  Mathias  had,  in  the  past  two 
months,  been  applying  various  tests  to  Geneva  and 
Kate  in  order  to  ascertain  their  respective  qualifica 
tions  for  the  honor  which  he  meant  to  confer  upon 
one  of  them.  He  had  one  week  asked  Geneva  to  give 
him  her  "dough  scrapings"  for  his  horse  next  time 
she  baked,  and  the  following  week,  when  it  was  Kate 's 
turn  to  do  the  family  baking,  he  had  made  the  same 
request  of  her.  The  result  had  been  disappointing. 
Geneva,  who  was  fair  and  plump  and  alluring,  had 
given  him  a  whole  "toot"  (a  paper  bag)  full  of  dried 
dough  scrapings,  thus  betraying  her  deficient  sense  of 
domestic  economy  in  having  allowed  so  much  dough 
to  stick  to  her  bowl.  Kate,  who  was  spare  and  blood 
less  and  unattractive,  had  manifested  her  superiority 
to  her  sister  in  the  fact  that,  as  she  informed  him,  she 

228 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

"did  n't  never  have  no  dough  scrapings  still  when  she 
baked." 

He  had  taken  occasion  also  to  watch  each  of  them 
at  their  sewing,  when  on  summer  evenings,  after  the 
milking,  they  wheeled  the  machine  out  to  the  kitchen 
porch  and  worked  at  the  household  mending  until 
sundown.  Geneva,  the  alluring,  wasted  her  thread— it 
made  him  cold  to  see  the  carelessness  with  which  she 
broke  it  off  at  least  two  inches  from  the  machine. 
Kate,  on  the  other  hand,  always  deftly  broke  it  as 
close  as  possible,  thus  saving,  Mathias  was  sure,  some 
two  or  three  spools  of  thread  a  year. 

Even  among  the  saving,  thrifty  people  of  Lancaster 
County,  Mathias  was  called  "wonderful  close."  But 
this  peculiarity  was  counted  commendable  rather  than 
otherwise — an  exaggerated  virtue. 

"Mathias  Buckholter  has  three  good  farms  and  they 
want  to  say  he  could  buy  that  many  more  yet,"  Eli 
Ebenshade  was  fond  of  remarking  to  his  daughters 
as  a  spur  to  the  matrimonial  alliance  of  which  with 
gratification  he  saw  the  possibility. 

"It  ain't  much  good  to  him  if  he  is  well  fixed," 
Geneva  once  ventured  to  respond,  "so  near  as  he  is 
with  his  money.  He  is  now  wonderful  keen  on  the 
penny,  Pop!" 

"He  's  a  hard  worker  and  a  close  saver,"  approv 
ingly  affirmed  her  father,  "which  it  would  be  a  good 

22Q 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

thing  if  you  was  to  be  more  that  way  yourself,  Gen- 
evy,  and  not  so  giddy-headed  as  what  you  are  still." 

"I  don't  see  no  use,"  Geneva  pouted,  "in  bein'  that 
much  on  the  make  as  what  Mathias  Buckholter  is. 
His  hired  girl  says  he  won't  so  much  as  leave  her  give 
a  tramp  a  drink  of  buttermilk." 

"Well,"  Eli  conceded,  "he  is  a  little  for  hisself,  I 
guess.  There  for  a  while  he  was  so  onneighborly  he 
would  n't  do  it  to  leave  me  hitch  to  his  post  still,  when 
mine  was  n't  put  up  yet.  He  sayed  it  wore  his  'n  out 
that  much  sooner  for  me  to  be  hitchin'  to  it." 

"He  's  gentle-spoke  for  a  man,"  said  Kate  in  a 
tone  of  defense.  "He  ain't  no  rough  talker  that  way. 
And  if  somepin'  does  ever  make  him  cross,  he  's  easy 
peacified,  I  've  took  notice  already." 

"Ach!"  said  Geneva  impatiently,  "the  first  time  I 
seen  him  when  he  moved  over  to  Canaan,  I  sayed, 
'What  for  ugly  lookin'  man  is  him?'  I  used  to  think 
to  myself  he  's  so  long  and  thin,  why  if  a  body  joggled 
him  he  'd  topple  over.  And  when  he  makes  so  funny 
still  to  keep  his  store  teeth  in  when  he  's  talkin',  he 
looks  that  wicked-like,  he  minds  me  of  them  pictures 
I  seen  already  of  the  devil.  If  he  is  gentle-spoke, 
Kate,  he  ain't  pretty." 

"No,"  thoughtfully  granted  Kate,  "he  ain't  no 
pretty  man.  And  he  is  wonderful  near;  yes,  full 
much  so." 

230 


t  The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

"He  takes  after  his  Mom,"  said  Eli.  "I  mind 
when  she  was  young  the  people  sayed  she  turned  plain 
'cause  it  did  n't  cost  so  expensive  to  wear  the  plain 
dress  as  what  it  did  to  dress  fashionable." 

Mathias 's  decision  as  to  whether  it  should  be  Kate 
or  Geneva  was  precipitated  by  a  circumstance  that 
left  him  no  more  room  for  douHt. 

Kate  " turned  plain."  She  discarded  her  worldly 
attire  and  donned  the  straight  plain  gown,  three- 
cornered  cape,  and  little  white  cap  of  the  New  Men- 
nonites,  one  of  the  strictest  sects  in  that  land  of 
strange  sects— southeastern  Pennsylvania. 

Mathias  was  as  greatly  elated  as  surprised. 

"It  won't  cost  near  so  expensive  to  dress  her  as 
what  it  would  to  dress  Genevy,  who  's  so  wonderful 
fashionable  that  way." 

He  regretted,  to  be  sure,  that  it  was  not  the  soft, 
fair  Geneva  instead  of  the  spare  and  homely  Kate 
that  had  adopted  this  inexpensive  garb.  But  it  cer 
tainly  seemed  that,  all  the  circumstances  considered, 
Providence  clearly  meant  him  to  marry  the  more  fru 
gal  and  industrious  elder  sister. 

The  fact  that  as  a  member  of  the  Mennonite  sect 
Kate  could  not  marry  one  who  was  still  "in  the 
world"— that  is,  who  was  not  also  a  New  Mennonite 
—was  not  a  difficulty  in  Mathias 's  way,  for  he  had  al 
ways  meant  sometime  to  "give  himself  up"  and  join 

231 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

Meeting,  and  now  was  surely  as  propitious  a  time  as 
any.  He  would  have  to  buy  new  clothes  "to  say  yes 
in,"  and  he  might  as  well  lay  the  money  out  in  get 
ting  the  New  Mennonite  broad-brimmed  hat  and 
plain,  clerically  cut  coat  which  some  day  he  would,  at 
any  rate,  be  obliged  to  buy  if  he  would  be  saved ;  for 
Mathias  was  the  offspring  of  New  Mennonites,  and  he 
knew  full  well  that  outside  the  tenets  of  this  Church 
there  was  no  salvation. 

So,  before  going  over  to  pay  his  customary  Satur 
day  evening  visit  at  Eli  Ebenshade's,  he  repaired  to 
Lancaster  City,  had  his  beard  shaved  off,  and  bought 
himself  a  New  Mennonite  outfit. 

Piously  clad  in  this  austere  garb,  he  went,  on  Sat 
urday  evening,  across  the  road  to  "speak  his  mind." 

He  found  Kate  alone  in  the  kitchen.  It  was  only 
six  o'clock,  but  the  customary  early  supper  was  over, 
the  room  "redd  up,"  the  milking  "through,"  and  the 
milk  "separated";  so  Kate  was  free  for  the  rest  of 
the  evening. 

Mathias  told  her  at  once  that  he  had  come  to  "set 
up"  with  her;  and  she,  taking  the  hint  that  he  did  n't 
want  Geneva  or  her  father  about,  carried  two  heavy 
wooden  rocking-chairs  from  the  parlor  to  the  front 
porch.  Mathias  never  dreamed  of  offering  to  assist  her 
— his  Pennsylvania-Dutch  view  of  woman  involv 
ing  no  remotest  hint  of  chivalry. 

232 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

' '  I  'm  now  wonderful  surprised  to  see  you,  Mathias, 
dressed  plain,"  began  Kate,  rocking  rather  nervously 
in  her  big  chair.  "How  did  you  come  to  give  your 
self  up,  Mathias?" 

"Well,  Kate,  it  was  like  this.  It  come  to  me  I 
was  n't  doin'  what  was  right  in  remainin'  in  the 
world  and  dressin'  fashionable  and  votin'  at  elections, 
which  the  Word  of  Gawd  it  says  ye  shall  be  neither 
law-breakers  nor  law-makers.  (I  can't  word  it  just 
exact. )  So  it  come  to  me  I  'd  be  on  the  safe  side  and 
join  to  the  true  Fold.  So  then  here  the  other  night  I 
took  and  studied  the  Scripture  and  another  book  I 
got  over  there  at  the  house— it  's  only  sich  a  little 
pamplet— a  book  of  Christ.  I  studied  till  I  was  con 
victed  of  my  sins.  Not  that  I  had  n't  always  been  a 
moral  man;  but  there  ain't  no  savin'  means  in  mor 
ality.  So  I  studied  till  I  come  to  the  truth.  I  seen! 
And  now,  Kate,  if  any  one  comes  to  me  and  passes  the 
remark,  What  do  I  think?  I  '11  tell  them  my  opin 
ion  straightforward:  I  ain't  no  more  goin'  to  conform 
to  this  world.  You  see  I  had  my  mustache  shaved 
off.  It  cost  me  fifteen  cents.  I  always  had  a  pride  in 
that  mustache,  Kate.  But  I  knowed  it  was  a  tempta 
tion  of  the  Enemy  to  keep  me  in  the  World,  and, ' '  he 
piously  added,  "I  've  conquered.  It  's  no  more.  And 
now,  Kate,  tell  me  how  you  come  to  give  yourself  up  ? 
Them  plain  does  becomes  you  something  surprising, 

233 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

and  I  'm  wonderful  glad  you  don't  dress  fashionable 
no  more."  * 

"Well,  Mathias,  it  was  this  here  way.  You 
knowed  last  week  we  was  to  our  cousin's  funeral,  ain't 
you  did?" 

Mathias  gravely  nodded.  "Over  to  East  Done 
gal?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  go  from  Mt.  Joy  up?"  he  asked. 

"No;  we  come  from  Manheim  down.  You  go  out 
the  pike  to  Snyder's  Hotel  and  then  you  turn  out  up 
that  way  and  there  is  it.  Well,  our  cousin  he  died 
from  fallin'  sudden  out  of  a  cherry  tree  and  broke  his 
neck  instant— and,  Mathias,"  said  Kate  solemnly, 
"that  was  a  very  loud  call  to  me!  I  kep'  thinkin'  to 
myself  that  verse  of  poe-try, 

'Bound  as  a  ring  that  has  no  end, 
So  shall  Eternity  be!' 

and  it  made  cold  chills  go  over  me  still.  And  the 
preacher  at  the  funeral  sayed  how  the  time  will 
come  when  for  each  one  of  us  the  calling  of  the  Lord 
will  be  quit.  So,  Mathias,  I  was  moved  to  give  my 
self  up.  And  0!"  she  fervently  said,  her  plain  face 
glowing  with  an  earnestness  that  gave  her  something 
better  than  beauty,  but  which,  it  is  to  be  feared,  was 
not  appreciated  by  Mathias,  "I  've  been  so  wonderful 
blest  since  then !  The  Lord  is  come  very  close  to  me, 

234 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

Mathias !  I  'm  an  ignorant  person— I  ain't  got  no  nice 
education  that  way— but  the  Lord  is  teachin'  me  wis 
dom  anyhow.  It  don't  come  in  education,  servin'  the 
Lord  don't.  The  Word  says  that  the  things  is  hid 
from  the  wise  and  prudent,  and  yielded  unto  babes 
—and  I  says  to  myself,  'What  for  babes  is  them?' 
It  could  n't  mean  real  little  babies,  because  they 
could  n't  understand.  It  means  babes  in  Christ. 
And  I  'm  a  baby  in  Christ.  I  use  n't  to  like  Men- 
nonites,  Mathias;  I  used  to  talk  down  on  'em;  but  I 
seen  different  after  Cousin  Andrew  Bushonger  fell 
out  the  cherry  tree  so  sudden." 

After  this  serious  exchange  of  confidences,  the  next 
step  was  easy  and  natural. 

IT  was  six  months  after  their  marriage  that  on  one 
drizzling  morning  in  November  Kate  "flopped,"  as 
she  called  it,  in  the  midst  of  her  week's  baking;  she 
suddenly  felt  herself  giving  way  before  a  moral  and 
physical  weakness,  to  the  dire  neglect  and  ruin  of  her 
dough.  She  sank  into  a  chair  to  "study  things  out, 
and  if  it  took  all  day  and  no  dinner  ready  for  Mathias 
yet  when  he  come  in  from  the  barn  already. ' ' 

Even  to  the  frugal,  Pennsylvania-Dutch  soul  of 
Kate,  accustomed  to  abstain  from  the  unnecessary  ex 
penditure  of  a  penny,  Mathias's  closeness  had  come 
to  seem  a  monstrosity.  Her  Mennonite  principles, 

235 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

to  which  she  had  thus  far  in  her  married  life  been 
stanch,  had  led  her  to  bear  with  "a  meek  and  quiet 
spirit,"  his  extraordinary  meanness.  But  to-day  a 
climax  in  her  feelings  had  been  reached ;  all  of  a  sud 
den,  while  kneading  her  dough,  she  had  realized  that 
a  turning-point  had  come  to  her,  and  that  she  would 
not  submit  another  day  to  being  ' '  ground  down. ' ' 

Never  before  in  her  life  had  Kate  been  called  upon 
to  do  such  strenuous  thinking  as  that  which  she  did  in 
the  next  half-hour.  With  Spartan  determination, 
she  resolved  that  once  and  for  all  she  would  end  this 
strife  with  her  husband  as  to  the  spending  of  money. 
Her  own  father,  when  she  had  kept  house  for  him, 
had  had  sufficient  confidence  in  her  judgment  and 
economy  to  allow  her  entire  freedom  in  her  manage 
ment,  without  questioning  her  or  demurring.  True, 
with  the  more  heedless  Geneva,  who  now  took  chief 
charge,  he  was  less  free;  but  even  she  was  not  re 
stricted  a  hundredth  as  much  as  her  married  sister. 
Kate  wondered  what  Mathias  would  have  done  with 
a  wife  like  Geneva,  or,  rather,  what  Geneva  would  have 
done  with  a  husband  like  Mathias,  who  would  never 
let  a  nickel  pass  through  his  wife's  hands;  who  re 
fused  to  buy  for  her  the  kitchen  utensils  which  she 
absolutely  required,  or  a  new  washboard  when  the  old 
one  tore  her  hands  and  the  clothes;  who  obliged  her 
to  use  brown  sugar  exclusively,  and  would  not  buy 

236 


"  A  husband  like  Mathias,  who  refused  to  buy  for  her  the 
kite-lien  utensils  which  she  absolutely  required  " 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

her  a  sewing-machine ;  who  watched  what  she  ate  and 
tried  to  check  her  appetite;  who  refused  to  let  her 
burn  enough  wood  and  coal  to  keep  herself  health 
fully  comfortable. 

"I  '11  learn  him!"  she  affirmed  to  herself,  with  a 
cool  quiet  in  her  eyes  that  was  born  of  her  Mennonite 
abstemiousness  and  self-control.  ' '  I  '11  just  give  way 
and  I  won't  hold  out  in  the  faith— I  '11  dress  fashion 
able  again.  He  told  me  he  has  trade  at  Haverstick's 
store  in  Lancaster  for  a  bar'l  of  apples  or  a  bushel  of 
potatoes  or  whatever— and  I  '11  just  go  to  town  and 
buy  some  fashionable  cloes  till  the  bar'l  of  whatever 
is  paid  for.  Then  I  '11  give  a  party  anyhow  and  in 
vite  fifteen  and  bake  a  cake  and  have  doughnuts  and 
lemonade.  I  '11  get  the  lemons  and  things  at  the  store 
unbeknown,  and  he  '11  have  to  pay  for  'em  after. 
I  '11  act  more  fashionable  than  what  I  was  already  be 
fore  I  turned  plain.  That  '11  fix  him.  He  will  try  to 
turn  me  plain  again,  and  I  '11  say  I  won't  never  give 
myself  up  no  more  till  he  passes  his  promise  to  give 
me  the  handlin'  of  so  much  a  week." 

Kate's  weapon  was  a  mighty  one,  and  she  was 
shrewd  enough  to  know  it.  The  Mennonite  rules 
made  it  obligatory  upon  the  husband  to  put  her  away 
from  him  as  a  wife  so  long  as  she  remained  apostate. 
He  must  continue  to  keep  and  support  her,  but  he 
dare  not  hold  unnecessary  converse  with  her,  eat  at 

239 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

table  with  her,  or  sleep  at  her  side,  until  she  repent 
her  of  her  backsliding  and  once  more  come  into  the 
Fold. 

In  her  heart  Kate  was  entirely  loyal  to  her  faith ; 
her  backsliding  was  to  be  only  a  means  of  disciplining 
her  husband.  She  reasoned  that  if,  in  order  to  lead 
straying  sheep  back  into  the  Fold,  the  Meeting  devised 
a  discipline  of  domestic  ostracism  such  as  that  above 
described,  why  should  not  she  vary  the  prescribed  dis 
cipline  slightly,  in  order  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  this 
particular  case? 

Dinner  was  ready  for  Mathias  when  at  eleven 
o'clock  he  came  in,  bland  and  amiable  as  usual,  but  in 
his  customary  spirit  of  obstinacy,  and,  of  course,  of 
zeal  for  saving. 

It  was  when  he  was  having  his  after-dinner  smoke 
of  impossibly  cheap  tobacco,  while  watching  Kate 
"redd  up,"  that  his  geniality  expanded  to  communi 
cativeness. 

"What  d'  you  think  I  come  acrost  this  morning  out 
here  in  the  north  field?"  he  said  between  puffs  at 
his  pipe.  "A  -  dude  from  town  that  sayed  he 
was  a  'artist/  a-paintin'  a  photygrap  of  our  cow 
with  his  horn  Hroke.  I  spoke  something  to  him 
about  how  if  he  wanted  to  pay  a  little  for  it,  he  could 
draw  a  photygrap  of  one  of  my  horned  cows,  seein'  he 
wanted  a  drawin'  of  a  picture  of  a  cow.  But  he  sayed 

240 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

he  had  a  preference  for  the  one  he  was  doin'.  I  ast 
him  what  he  was  going  to  do  with  it  then  when  he  got 
it  drawed  oncet,  an'  he  says,  'sell  it.'  'Ach,'  I  says, 
'what  '11  you  get  for  a  picture  of  a  cow  with  his  horn 
broke,'  and  he  says  'one  hundred  dollars,'  he  says. 
'Now  think!'  I  says,  'Why,  the  cow  herself  would  n't 
bring  ten  dollars !  Who  'd  be  fool  enough  to  give  a 
hundred  dollars  for  a  drawin'  of  her?'  He  laughed 
hearty,  but  I  don't  know  what  at.  He  was  now  a  good 
conwerser.  I  says  to  him,  'If  you  get  a  hundred  dol 
lars  for  that  drawin',  I  think  you  ought  to  pay  me  for 
givin '  you  the  dare  to  draw  her. '  And  he  ast  me  how 
much  was  it,  and  I  says  'we  'd  make  it  come  at  ten 
cents  by  the  hour. '  So  he  gimme  a  quarter.  But  he 
did  n  't  set  no  full  hour.  Har  'ly  a  half. ' ' 

Kate  was  brushing  up  about  the  hearth,  and  she 
kept  her  back  turned  to  her  husband  lest  he  see  her 
face  of  shame  at  his  charging  the  stranger  for  the 
privilege  of  drawing  a  picture  of  their  thin  old 
cow. 

"You  ain't  hittin'  it  behind  the  wood-box,"  Ma 
thias  admonished,  as  he  watched  her  broom.  ' '  There  's 
dust  there." 

Kate  controlled  her  impulse  to  "hit  it"  over  his 
head— knowing  full  well  that  such  impulses  were 
temptations  of  the  Enemy— and  plied  her  broom  be 
hind  the  wood-box. 

is  ~  A  , 

241 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

"Gimme  a  drink  to  wrench  my  mouth  out  oncet," 
he  said. 

She  took  from  a  closet  a  tumbler  containing  about 
two  tablespoonfuls  of  sour  milk,  which  she  poured 
into  a  garbage  bucket,  and  then  walked  over  to  the 
dishpan  to  wash  the  glass.  Mathias  started  forward 
with  an  exclamation  of  distress.  "Why  did  you 
throw  that  sour  milk  to  aside  for?" 

"It  was  n't  enough  to  do  nothin'  with,  and  I  ain't 
got  no  more  tumblers." 

"Why  did  n't  you  gimme  a  drink  in  a  cup  then? 
Don't  throw  nothin'  to  aside  that  can  be  used.  I 
won't  stand  none  of  that,  Kate.  Don't  you  do  it 
again." 

Kate  washed  the  glass  and  handed  it  to  him  filled 
with  water. 

"Do  you  understand,  Kate?"  he  persisted. 

"Oh,  be  sure!"  she  answered,  more  impatiently 
than  he  had  ever  heard  her  speak  since  she  had  turned 
plain. 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  "I  seen  from  the 
barn  this  morning  that  some  one  come  in  for  a  while 
to  see  you.  What  for  girl  was  she  ?" 

"Sally  Eberly." 

' '  Oh,  her.  Did  she  mebbe  holt  you  back  from  your 
work  some?" 

Kate  turned  with  an  unwonted  flush  in  her  face  and 

242 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

met  his  eye.  "I  ast  her  to  stop  and  eat  dinner.  But 
she  sayed  she  knowed  you  'd  not  make  her  welcome." 

"Why  did  you  ast  her  to  eat  here  fur?  Ain't  she 
got  her  own  home  and  her  own  victuals?  I  guess  I 
pay  for  my  victuals  anyhow.  Let  her  pay  for  her  'n. ' ' 

' '  The  Rules  and  the  Bible  says  we  must  be  hospita 
ble.  Mennonites  always  practises  hospitality.  You 
don't  obey  to  the  Rules." 

Mathias  puffed  at  his  pipe  thoughtfully.  ' '  It  means 
be  hospitable  to  the  brethren ;  not  to  the  World.  Sally 
Eberly,  she  's  in  the  World.  Your  water  's  hot 
enough  now  for  your  dishes,"  he  digressed;  "ain't 
it?  You  'd  better  outen  that  fire  and  not  waste 
your  wood. ' ' 

"Mathias  Buckholter,  I  wisht  'at  you  'd  clear 
out  of  here  and  leave  me  be ! "  Kate  crossly  returned. 

Mathias  stared  at  her  in  surprise.  "Ain't  you 
mebbe  feelin'  well,  Kate?" 

Kate  almost  slammed  her  plates  into  the  dishpan 
and  literally  dashed  her  hot  water  at  them.  She 
found  herself  wishing  that  some  of  the  boiling  water 
would  splash  upon  Mathias 's  placid  countenance  and 
scald  it  into  a  grimace  or  a  frown. 

"Don't  you  be  breakin'  any  dishes,"  he  anxiously 
warned  her.  "If  you  ain't  feelin'  just  so  good,  don't 
be  wastin'  money  goin'  to  no  doctor,  Kate,  for  it  's 
all  blamed  foolishness  to  be  supposin '  they  can  do  you 

243 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

any  good.  Emmy  she  was  took  with  such  a  pain  in 
her  shoulder  there  for  a  while,  and  it  got  so  bad  that 
unbeknownst  to  me  she  called  in  Dr.  Isenberger  over 
to  New  Sanville,  and  he  rubbed  her,  but  it  only  just 
moved  the  pain  from  her  shoulder  down  to  her  heart. 
And  I  sayed,  '  If  that  's  all  you  wanted  to  do,  you  'd 
better  of  let  that  pain  where  it  was.'  And  after 
Emmy  died  he  sent  me  a  bill  for  five  dollars!"  Ma 
thias  gasped  at  the  recollection.  "He  ketched  me 
awful.  And  I  had  to  pay  it,  too.  He  would  n  't  hear 
to  me  not  payin'  it,  for  all  I  talked  at  him  for  two 
hours.  And  at  last  he  says,  '  I  can 't  listen  to  you  no 
more;  I  got  a  patient  up  the  road  a  good  piece  yet, 
and  my  time  's  up ! '  Then  I  says,  sarcastic  that  way, 
'I  hope  that  patient  won't  get  ketched  like  what 
you  've  ketched  me,'  and  I  chucked  the  five  at  him 
and  went  out.  But  that  settled  me ;  I  ain  't  never  no 
more  goin'  to  have  no  doctor  runnin'  here.  He  'd 
better  have  left  that  pain  where  it  was.  It  spited  me 
something  wonderful." 

He  "outened"  his  pipe  and  rose  to  go  out  to  his 
work. 

"Mathias,"  said  Kate,  "make  it  so  the  buggy  's 
ready  for  me.  I  'm  goin'  to  Lancaster." 

Mathias  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  doorknob,  min 
gled  surprise  and  obstinacy  in  every  line  of  his  sleek 
face. 

244 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

"What  fur?" 

Kate  washed  her  dishes  with  a  vigor  that  made  him 
shudder  with  apprehension  of  their  fate. 

"I  'm  goin'  to  town  to  buy  does.  I  'm  goin'  to 
give  way  and  dress  fashionable.  That  's  what  I  'm 
goin'  to  do." 

Mathias  walked  to  his  chair  and  sank  into  it. 

"Kate!"  he  gasped.  "Has  the  Enemy  been  temp- 
tin'  you?" 

"Yes.  And  he  's  been  usin'  you  for  an  instru 
ment.  ' ' 

"Me!  I  ain't  urgin'  you  to  dress  fashionable, 
Kate!" 

"But  you  're  temptin'  me  to  cherishin'  a  spirit  I 
ain't  learned  of  the  Master!  And  if  I  can't  obey  to 
the  Rules,  I  won't  be  no  hypocrite— I  '11  give  way, 
open  and  honest  and  dress  fashionable!  You  just 
make  it  so  the  buggy  's  ready  now!" 

' '  It  don 't  suit  for  the  horse  to-day. ' ' 

"Then  I  '11  get  Pop's.  And  I  '11  get  Genevy  to  go 
with,  to  help  choose  my  fashionable  things.  And  I  '11 
treat  her  to  a  plate  of  ice  cream  yet. ' ' 

"Where  '11  you  get  the  money?" 

"You  're  got  trade  at  Haverstick's.  I  '11  buy  my 
things  off  of  him. ' ' 

"I  say,  I  won't  give  you  the  dare,  Kate.  You 
have  n't  the  dare." 

245 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

"I  ain't  askin'  you  have  I  the  dare.     I  'm  goin'." 

"But  I  can't  eat  or  talk  or  sit  with  you  no  more 
if  you  give  up,"  he  remonstrated,  looking  white. 

"You  can  turn  fashionable  yourself  if  you  want." 

"It  costs  more  expensive  to  live  fashionable." 

Kate  turned  on  him  again  with  vigorous  decision. 

"Mathias,  now  you  listen  at  me.  You  pass  me  your 
promise  you  '11  gimme  seven  dollars  a  week  to  buy 
what  I  need  for  the  housekeepin '  and  myself  and  I  '11 
not  give  way.  You  don't  pass  me  that  promise  and 
I  '11  run  you  in  debt,  and  give  a  party,  and  what 
ever!" 

Mathias  stared  at  her  blankly.  His  Emmy  had 
never  turned  upon  him  by  word  or  look.  How  should 
this  vigorous  woman  be  met  and  put  down?  He 
would  have  to  ponder  the  matter  heavily. 

Slowly  he  rose  and  went  again  to  the  door.  "I  ain't 
hitchin'  up  for  you.  You  stay  at  home  and  tend  to 
your  work. ' ' 

Kate  resumed  her  dish-washing,  and  gave  him  no 
articulate  answer;  the  set  of  her  jaw  was  answer 
enough. 

He  went  out  to  his  farm  to  go  on  with  his  day's 
work,  but  his  soul  was  heavy  within  him.  Kate  meant 
what  she  had  said.  His  conviction  of  that  was  deep 
and  unwavering.  How,  then,  was  he  going  to  escape 
the  inevitable  anguish  of  unlooked-for  expenditure? 

246 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

Mechanically  he  sawed  his  wood  as  he  bent  to  the  ter 
rible  problem.  Should  Kate  turn  fashionable,  life  would 
not  be  worth  living  if  he  could  not,  by  the  rules  of  his 
faith,  eat  with  her,  sleep  with  her,  hold  converse  with 
her.  And  what  a  great  saving  of  expense  it  was  to 
have  her  ' '  dress  plain ' '  and  live  the  abstemious  life  of 
the  New  Mennonites !  Would  it  not,  in  the  long  run, 
be  more  economical  to  accede  to  her  demands  for  an 
allowance  and  thus  keep  her  within  the  true  Fold? 

But  seven  dollars  a  week !  He  groaned  aloud  at  the 
thought  of  letting  her  handle  his  money  and  spend  it 
as  she  wished,  without  his  supervision.  ' 

What  could  he  do?  How  escape  from  these  awful 
alternatives?  Was  there  no  way  out  by  which  he 
might  keep  both  his  money  and  his  wife? 

His  troubled  thoughts  were  broken  in  upon  by  a 
sound  which  made  his  heart  rise  up  in  his  throat — 
the  sound  of  carriage  wheels  across  the  road.  He  has 
tened  to  the  fence,  to  see  his  wife  and  her  sister  seated 
in  their  father's  buggy,  driving  out  of  the  barnyard 
to  the  pike. 

Throwing  open  his  front  gate,  he  ran  over  to  them 
and  seized  the  horse's  bridle. 

''Kate!"  he  gasped,  "what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I  'm  goin'  to  town  to  buy  out  your  trade  at  Haver- 
stick  's  in  fashionable  cloes, ' '  she  grimly  made  answer, 
and  the  eyes  of  her  sister  Geneva  gleamed  with  the 

247 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

double  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  brother-in-law  de 
fied  and  the  prospect  of  a  shopping  excursion. 

"You  ain't  goin  to  do  it  to  go,  Kate !"  pleaded  Ma 
thias.  "You  daresent  give  way.  You  're  got  to  stand 
firm  like  what  I  'm  doin'  and  serve  the  Lord." 

"It  's  easy  for  you  to  stand  firm— the  Enemy  ain't 
temptin'  you  still,  like  what  he  's  temp  tin'  me  througn 
you  as  an  instrument.  I  'm  goin'  to  town,  and  I  'm 
goin'  to  get  me  and  Genevy  ice  cream  and  run  a  bill 
up  on  you. ' ' 

"I  '11  have  to  tell  the  brethren  to  come  and  reason 
with  you,  Kate." 

"It  won't  do  no  good.  My  mind  's  made  up, 
Mathias. ' ' 

"I  '11  buy  you  some  of  them  kitchen  things  you 
want,  Kate — I  '11  get  you  a  new  washboard  and  some 
tumblers  and  whatever. ' ' 

"Will  you  gimme  what  I  sayed— by  the  week?" 

"How  much  was  it  you  sayed  you  wanted  me  to 
leave  you  have?  Was  it  two  dollars?" 

"No,  it  was  n't.  It  was  seven.  And  I  want  a  wash 
woman.  Pop  gets  Genevy  one  since  I  ain't  there  to 
help  her,  and  you  can  afford  it  just  as  good  as  what 
he  can.  And  I  want  a  telyphome,  Mathias!"  she 
boldly  demanded,  while  Geneva's  bosom  swelled  with 
the  excitement  of  the  occasion — "The  country  peo 
ple  's  getting  telyphomes  wherever  they  can  handy, 

248 


The  Disciplining  of  Mathias 

and  Pop  says  he  '11  pay  half  and  use  our'n  if  we  have 
one.  You  pass  me  your  promise  you  '11  gimme  them 
things  and  I  won't  give  way.  You  don't  pass  me  no 
promise  and  I  '11  cost  you  just  as  expensive  as  what 
ever  I  can." 

Mathias  being  of  German,  not  English  extraction, 
was  able  to  recognize  his  own  defeat.  His  face  was 
white  with  misery  as  he  looked  up  into  the  resolute 
countenance  of  his  wife. 

"Think  of  what  the  brethren  and  sisters  '11  think 
of  you  if  you  give  way,  Kate !"  he  put  forth  as  a  last 
feeble  remonstrance. 

"I  ain't  a-carin' !  The  Enemy  's  made  me  feel  that 
wonderful  reckless,  Mathias,  I  '11  wear  my  fashionable 
does  to  Meetin'  next  Sunday!" 

Mathias 's  hand  dropped  from  the  horse's  bridle. 

"Kate,"  he  said  feebly,  "I  pass  my  promise.  You 
need  n't  go  to  Haverstick 's. " 

The  hardened  lines  in  Kate's  face  relaxed,  and  she 
looked  at  her  husband  kindly. 

"All  right,  Mathias." 

She  turned  the  horse's  head,  not  toward  town,  but 
down  the  road,  where  lived  the  washwoman. 


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